Sunlight Through the Night
by Late to the Party
Summary: Jezabella, daughter of Cain and Lilith, has inhabited Faux for centuries. Established by Puritans and Mexicans immigrants, Faux is a hovel forgotten by time. A young man, Isaac, from England, returns home after many years abroad. Can his God-fearing ways save not only him, but redeem the town and her before its too late? AU.
1. Onyx Sunlight

**A/N: This is a writing exercise. Characters portrayed within are entirely fictitious, as are the individual character beliefs systems and ideals. Obviously, I don't own Twilight, all rights and credit where they're due. Jezabella & Isaac, however, I do claim.**

**Reviews welcome.  
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_Prologue_

Death is not a thing to be feared. I learned this young. Had I known I would face it soon, would I have still gone? Her dark eyes were craven, the temptress plying her trade. Her wiles were terrible, and she looked at me.

* * *

_1 _

_Onyx Sunlight_

"A city of vice and debauchery." The first words that left my mouth filled me with shame. The airport would take me far from here, to my mission in the town of Faux. I looked at her through the simpering rain. She was a whore, a traitor. She was my mother. I turned my back on her. I pretended not to notice her tears; her sin was great. My lack of forgiveness was worse. We both must repent. Time spent apart to atone.

My grandfather lived here once. My mother bore me out of wedlock, and was cast out. Rather than marry my father, she ran away to our relatives overseas. She tried to mend her ways, and I was raised outside of her shame. Now I was coming home.

I loved England. Its green hills and trees. It was everything Faux was not. Charles Jacob Cortez, my father, wrote inviting me. It was time I saw the land of my birth, my uncle said. He passed the day I left. It was my duty to make peace with my father for my mother's crimes.

The journey lasted through the night. I slept fitfully, waking every hour. I kept my nightly vigil, observing prayer for those I would meet, those I left behind. The drive to Faux was spent in silence. Driving on the wrong side of the road bothered many, but I knew I was protected. I observed the morning fast.

Charles greeted me with awkward affection, my clasped hands breaking to shake his. "Welcome, son. How was the flight?"

"Father." I replied, allowing him to take my suitcase as a courtesy. "God was good."

There was little else to be said. I straightened my jacket and collar, and tucked my bible under one arm. It was time to meet the good townsfolk of Faux.

"William Black Cortez has offered you the loan of his truck for as long as you are here."

I did not need an explanation and accepted the gift gratefully.

"It is modest, but serviceable."

"I am obliged. I must thank him for his generosity."

"Well now, I'm sure he'll be mighty pleased."

"I confess, Father, I know little of automobiles. I would be indebted if you would show me."

"She handles easy enough, lad." Charles clapped my shoulder. "Changin' the oil and water ain't hard."

"Thank you, Father."

We broke fast together at a roadside diner. For him, it was a predawn refreshment; for myself, it was supper. As an agent of peace and constable of the law, my father spent much of his day at what I believed was the sheriff's office. Times had progressed much beyond the English country side, but Faux shared some similarities in spite of the ocean that kept us apart. The spirit of the original colonists, puritans of the most God-fearing kind, had founded the school, local gaol and law office, town hall and of course the church.

The latter was our first stop. I intended to introduce myself to the local minister and hand over my letters of introduction. As a guest in another parish, my own pastor insisted that I observe propriety. My understanding was he requested my tuition continue, lest I stray and fall to the same path as my mother. Charles assured him in his letter that I would be afforded every courtesy. My pastor pledged I was hard working, honest, and I would not be a hindrance. I could not disgrace him, or my uncle.

The minister was one Isaac Carlyle Cortez. He introduced himself with reserve befitting such an esteemed personage; I instantly took a liking to his calmed, reasoned manner. He was, in every way, a true alderman of the church, and I was honoured to make his acquaintance. After a short tour, he explained the pews were a more recent addition, and the church had come close to falling into Catholic hands shortly after the original settlers arrived. After explaining a little about the history of Faux, and his own, he bid me good day. I was welcome to come and sup with him and join him for evensong and dusk prayer.

"A fine fellow," Charles spoke up when leaving the church. The morning had yet to reach dawn.

I inclined my head. I found myself reflecting upon the preacher's words: Carlisle, of Cumbria was where the man's ancestry hailed from. Carlyle must have been a more recent deviation. I was pleased and surprised to find so ardent a historian in such a crooked town. I was under no illusions of Faux's vice; the pulpit was clean, but the church was lacking. It was obvious how much contempt she was held in.

Our house was larger than I expected, and older too. A wooden affair of struts and creaky floorboards, it was carpeted in dusty, faded colours. Reds and greens were the order of the day, and the mantel above the cast iron fire was stone. Two photo frames held my mother and I in brass; the other, my grandfather, Charles Isaac Cortez. The brown and yellow photo revealed a trim man, neat in every way without being fussy. I admired his suit and pocket watch, then admonished myself for converting such vanity. The Lord would forgive me, but I must begin my mission with the right heart. I would repent over prayer.

My chamber was modestly furnished and spacious. The décor was dated, but it suited my purposes well. I set my wooden cross against the wall, and placed by bible inside the bedside drawer. I found my gaze drawn to the shutters, and for a few moments I watched life on the street go by.

It soon became clear to me that the house across the street was one of ill disrupt. Resisting the impulse to shake my head, I sank to my knees and began to pray.

Three hours on, my father returned from his shift. He was surprised to find me still in prayer, and said he thought I had been resting. The jetlag left me groggy, but I rose unsteadily to my feet. It was time for introductions at the local school.

The rusting, once proud iron fencing was the first thing I noticed, followed by the old schoolhouse's bricks. Pastor Carlyle explained that the first schoolhouse had burnt down, and the settlers had rebuilt it from brick, fashioned in the likeness of their former homeland. It was a small taste of home, and one that strengthened my resolve. I steeled myself, and stepped inside. I heard my father drive off in the background.

A red-headed lady caught my eye seconds after I walked in. The plaques on the wall and inscriptions of war heroes, the honoured dead, and those who studied here were all up there. They threatened to steal my attention, but I came to my senses, and offered her a tight, earnest smile. "Ma'am," I began, but she cut me short as she stood.

"You're Charles' lad." Looking me up and down, I endured her inspection without fidgeting. It seemed I passed to her satisfaction. "You're from England? Speak up lad, don't be shy."

I couldn't place her accent, so instead I answered, "I am Isaac." I didn't quite hesitate on my surname. I was so used to using my mother's, I had to catch myself. "Charles Jacob Cortez is my father. Might I have the pleasure of knowing whom I address, if I may be so bold?"

Puffing out her cheeks, she smiled, "Not many ask that. You've got manners, I see. Not from your mother."

I ignored the slur, but the shame my mother caused still stung. I tried to relax my shoulders.

"Don't look so stiff. I meant no harm by it. Your father's a respected man round these parts."

Where was she from? I nodded.

"No need to be shy." Perhaps she thought I had not heard her the first time. Then I saw the bell chime. "Best be off. Your first lesson is English, with, let's see, Mr. Manson Cortez. Room 2b. Corridor's just down your left."

I thanked her, and quickened my step.

After the surge of other children had filed in in a most disorderly fashion, I stepped over the threshold and taped on the door. "Mr. Manson?"

I waited while the class settled under his strict bellow for quiet. I waited to catch his attention, and he fixed me a sidelong look, then growled me inside. Making my way to his desk, I offered my hand. "Mr. Manson? I am Isaac Jacobs. I was led to believe I was attending your class?"

After a moment, he shook my hand briskly, then barked at the class, "We've a guest from England. Perhaps you'd care to introduce yourself, Mr. Jacobs."

"Thank you." I turned to my classmates. A mass of faces piqued with curiosity and disdain met me. I hadn't thought to prepare a speech. I wasn't sure where to begin, so I started simply. "Hello." A roar of laughter followed. I smiled tightly. "As Mr. Manson said, I have flown over from England, though as I'm sure many of you know, I was born here. My desire is to see the land of my father and grandfather, and to come home after so many years. I know little of your ways, and I would count myself indebted to all of you if you extend your patience while we get to know one another. My thanks again for your welcome. It is a privilege to be here amongst you."

I hadn't expected applause, but I certainly hadn't expected the ridicule and fascination that followed. One very rude young man called out something I cared not to hear, and another young lady at the front made a most disdainful remark. I put it down to a lack of cultural understanding. Perhaps I had offended them? Mr. Manson soon settled them, and showed me my seat at the front near the door. It was a most satisfactory view, and he had sat me beside a lovely tawny haired young lady. She had freckles and a pretty smile, which she most graciously showed to me. After that, Mr. Manson's chalk began to scratch unerringly on the board. It was not a class of discussion, nor participation, but one of note taking and silent observation. I found it most satisfactory.

I decided during that class, that I would attempt to teach my fellows cricket when the opportunity arose. As long as it was not used for chance, nor profanities uttered, it should be a good, clean way of establishing relationships. I was quite sure we had much to learn from each other, and a cultural exchange seemed to be the best way to begin. I would keep an open mind, and hopefully, so would they.

As class drew to a close, I packed away my things and offered my hand to the girl beside me. Judith was her name; Gloria had been the one who had tried to bait me earlier, but I forgave her the misunderstanding. No doubt she meant nothing by it. I offered Judith a hand up. She looked at me quizzically. "Ma'am."

"Judith." She graced me with that smile again. Behind me, a lad Mr. Manson referred to as 'Earnest' scowled. Because of this, I did not return Judith's smile but merely inclined my head. I would not forge friendships by stepping on toes.

The next class was Trigonometry with Mr. Vaughn Cortez. Judith led the way with Earnest a step behind her. Some swarmed around me, and others rushed past. Most of the pestering was good natured, and it was good they were so inquisitive, though some tried to trap me with their wordplay. I answered as best I could, and as honestly. Sowing lies was the Devil's work.

As it so happened, we were put into groups. A register was called, and I immediately undertook the decision to commit every face and name to memory. Once again, I shook heads with the tutor, and quietly introduced myself to him. He bade me sit with Judith and Earnest, to which I was quite pleased to. Earnest still glowered, but I trusted I could win him over. The exercises were interesting, though mediocre, but it was good to learn of the practical applications the science brought.

With most of the morning spent, the bell rang for lunch. I had lost track of time, and my own internal clock was not sure whether to eat or rest; I was flagging and I looked forward to a hearty lunch and perhaps even a nice cup of tea. I did not hold my hopes they would possess such a thing, but I had already planned for such an eventuality. In the refectory, I stood at a table and looked at my classmates. Some had already moved to assume their seats, and others waited to see what would happen. There were two other classes besides, and it was nice that in even such a small school, everyone could gather together and dine. I set my satchel on the table and cleared my throat. I announced myself, and asked for representatives of each class to step forth. I then handed them a gift of our most precious commodity, tea, enough for each of them for two weeks. I urged that they be distributed evenly, and it was but a small token on my behalf. The reactions were, of course, mixed, but generally favourable. It was not my intention to cause a stir, but nevertheless, a stir was indeed caused. It saddened and shocked me that so many did not know how to treat such gifts, and more than one ration ended up being trampled underfoot. I answered many questions about life at home, more than one inquiring of the weather, and I sensed my opportunity to suggest cricket. To my delight, many accepted and the promise of an afterschool meeting was made.

Privately I approached the teachers' table, and introduced myself to each one in turn. The head of the school, much to my surprise, was not in attendance. I handed each of them tea, and made a gift to the rest of the staff. This, I found, was greeted with smiles and clipped nods.

With so many faces, I barely noticed the dark eyed young lady who watched from afar. She headed a table with several other girls, each more beautiful in turn. It was appalling, then, that they should have their cloth cut in such a suggestive manner. Indeed, it was not that they were scantily clad, but rather the way they held themselves. Some folds too lose, others too tight; it was a sight to stun even the most righteous of folk. And so, as any good Christian, I averted my eyes. I prayed for strength, wisdom, guidance, courage and above all patience. I vowed anew to rid the town of such deplorable behaviour. I soon found myself caught up in a stream of questions, but her eyes never left me. Later, it struck me that they were almost a coffee glazed shade of amber. I found that most odd.

After lunch, we headed towards the playing field. Gym seemed an odd choice so soon after dining, but a spot of sport, fair weather and even better company sounded like a fine idea. Much to my horror, I discovered that it was biology that was supposed to follow lunch, but the tutors were so taken with the idea of cricket, they thought the novelty well worthwhile. I found that I had two classes of schoolchildren and several teachers. Expressions varied from mildly curious, to mocking, to those who wanted to see where it would go. More than a few were eager, if uncertain, and I decided I would begin by organising teams. I asked for volunteers, and Michael, a chap who had handed out the tea, called out first. I asked that people raise their hands, and much to my surprise, I could not hear myself speak. I tried again, and this time, the teachers helped calm the noise. I decided on a simple one-two-three order, and with Michael's help, arranged three teams. It was a fine start.

I explained about batters and runs, but the concept of 'innings' seemed a little exotic, so I kept things simple. For now, it was enough to get everyone throwing and catching in circuits. Much to my surprise, there was already a sport similar in drill to the one I described. However, it had never reached any sort of popularity in Faux, and so I had little to compare cricket with. In a way, it was both a blessing and a curse.

For half an hour, we ran through basic team exercises, while I struggled to work out how we would acquire replacement bats. I had only brought the one, a set of stumps and two balls, and no protective gear at all. Even so, it went down well, and everyone got at least one turn at bowling and batting. The girl with dark eyes watched, and later, as I was packing things away, she again caught my eye, turned and sauntered away. I had to stop myself from staring.

"Jazebella," Michael remarked as he helped me pack. He didn't get a chance to say more, for those teachers that had not walked away congratulated me.

Charles collected me, and I was able to make it home exhausted, but satisfied. Before I stumbled into bed, I took the time to thank God, but my prayers were shamefully hurried.


	2. Amber Shadows

_2_

_Amber Shadows_

To my shame, I realised I had missed supping with Pastor Carlyle. It was dawn the next day when the song of birdsong roused me from my dreams. I awoke to hymn resounding in my mind. I thanked God for the new day, and slipped to my knees to pray. I determined I would apologise to the good pastor, beg his forgiveness and try to rearrange. I would make it up to him.

I need not have worried. My father had already spoken with him, and he understood completely. He was surprised I had gone through the day without rest, and understood I would need time to recuperate from the jetlag. My father, upon realising this, berated himself and denounced my folly. He subsided under my lack of objection, and I apologised for worrying him. His displeasure somewhat abated, we broke fast and he ferried me to school again. The truck we would fetch that afternoon. He made me promise not to push myself. Grudgingly, I agreed, knowing he was right.

To my surprise, I had rested well and I felt full of cheer, if a little sleepy as I walked through the school gates. I smiled at the lady-receptionist, whose name I still had not learned, and she smiled back. Judith met me at the desk, and we both made our way to the refectory. Tea had become an overnight sensation, and she was determined to show me what my gifts had brought. Michael saw us and waved us over; he had a fine china teapot, his grandmother's he informed us proudly. Judith smiled at this, but he did not notice. I found myself once again the object of attention, as it soon became apparent that although they understood how to make the tea, they by no means knew how to _drink_ it. There were many amusing attempts, but a crowd gathered as I gently, and carefully instructed the art of sipping. It was met by bewilderment, intrigue and then an eagerness to try, along with the usual disdain and suspicion that accompanies all new things.

It did not take me long to notice that Jezabella and her flock were nowhere in sight. I found myself wondering; part of me panged with relief, and oddly, with regret. I would have liked to have seen her sip tea. She had elegant hands, and long slender wrists. A pity she had not seen her own self-worth, but she would learn to value her body, I was certain. Silently, I thanked God and gave Him the day again.

In what might be taken as a sign of His favour or coincidence the sunlight burst through the refectory windows. It reminded me of English, our next class, and of 'pathetic fallacy'. Somehow, as the light warmed our brows and cheeks, it made me think that everything would work out all right in the end.

First class was maths, which everyone here insisted on calling 'math'. It was very strange and sounded quite wrong, but I reminded myself to be patient. I was the guest here. Besides petty arguing led nowhere. The actual exercises were quite routine, but then I realised the dimensions of the classroom and began to apply what Mr. Vaughn was teaching us to try to work out various aspects of the school's architecture. I labelled the diagrams with 'school outer roof: front, base'. It wasn't the exercise, but it helped. I actually started to enjoy it after that and found myself disappointed when the lesson finished. Cricket followed that, and in the fresh dew of the morning, it was perfect. I spoke to the tutor about seeing if someone in the town would be able to turn willow to make more bats, or if I'd have to send an order home. He said he'd think about it. Unfortunately, my bowling was too good and I almost knocked Earnest in the nose. The poor lad would sport a black eye. I felt awful, and went with him to the infirmity. Judith met us there fifteen minutes later, and the three of us headed off for lunch. Everyone more or less kept to the same table, and Michael invited us to join him again.

Tacos were something I'd never encountered before. Not using a knife and fork was a novelty I confess I was uncertain of. When in Rome… Serviettes were called 'napkins' here, and saved me from an embarrassing episode. I noticed Mr. Manson, excused myself from table, and asked him for permission to speak with the school's cook. He agreed. 'Sheppard's Pie', or 'Cottage Pie', I explained, handing her the recipe. She seemed suspicious, but agreed to prepare one meal for the school. I promised her the recipe for a traditional Sunday Roast if the pie went down well. That caught her attention. I didn't know a lot about cooking, but I knew the importance of Thyme and Rosemary, the herb I always forget. Later, I learned that our food was considered bland by apparently every other country in the world. I couldn't understand what was wrong with bread-and-butter pudding, or indeed, scones and cream teas. My pastor's wife had been insistent that I take recipes with me, and I was infinitely grateful for her cookbook. Her parting words were to make a 'good impression', and sharing the kitchen ken of centuries was a good way to go about that.

Upon my return, Judith and Michael introduced me to a 'snicker doodle'. Understanding dawned, and at once, the fog lifted. No wonder they thought our food bland. So. Much. Sugar. I prayed earnestly I wouldn't have a seizure, or bounce from the walls. I felt sick.

…I ate it all.

Biology ruined my good mood. Intelligent Design? Evolution? I could not fathom how anyone could trade reason for folly, and the arguments of both sides seemed more and more frenzied. I had heard in passing of Charles Darwin's theories, just as I had heard of the literal interpretation on Creation. I gently suggested that after God's message first came to England, the monasteries that were established were at the forefront of scientific exploration and science and religion were not at odds. The interjection was met with blank, incredulous stares and angry murmurs of 'fence sitter' followed. 'Fence sitter' was not the word they used, but it was one I chose to hear. The debate continued without me.

While I noted who held ardent in their beliefs for whichever side they held, and who did not care, I noticed Jezabella was still absent. That was a disappointment, as it was an excellent opportunity to gauge her standpoint on the subject. Still wondering how to tackle the problem of such razored views, I wondered if both had become too blind to the majesty and beauty of God's Creation. Did it matter how He created it, as long as He had? Mutations, or by spoken Word? I decided I must re-examine my stance. Such a moderate view would be in conflict with my pastor back home, but throughout history, many men of the church were agents of progress, and I was determined not to let that legacy sag.

My father found me outside the school gates, and together we went to get the truck, and food. He was surprised by my amazement at the amount of 'take out', and its cost. Back home, take aways were a treat, laden with salt and other preservatives, and cost more than an arm. I suggested to him that perhaps we could grow our own vegetables, and using my pastor's wife's cookbook, we could learn to make simple casseroles and stew together. He liked that idea.

Along the way, I noticed two of Jezabella's friends and nodded to them; they didn't see me. It prompted Charles to ask how I was finding school. I realised how keen he was for me to fit in, and how disappointed he would be if I could not make a home here. So I told him about cricket, and he winced when I mentioned Earnest. I also told him of English class, with Mr. Manson. I had never read 'A Tale of Two Cities' before, and so far, I was finding it interesting, if a little wistful. It struck me then, that perhaps God was trying to make a point. I decided I must write to my pastor, and my mother, and I would do well to keep a journal. Charles seemed pleased by this, and we arrived home in comfortable silence. I was still tired from the time difference, but I set to work cleaning the kitchen table and sink. I would chop the vegetables, and he would handle the steak.

As I washed the vegetables and boiled the water, I asked him about Pastor Carlyle. Charles told me how he was not only a pastor, but also a doctor. A most learned fellow by all accounts. My respect for the man grew. When I carefully mentioned the debate we had in biology, my father's jaw tightened. "People can be small minded."

I didn't disagree.

"Especially in small country towns. You'll find ideas here very set. Pastor Carlyle can tell you about that."

"When should I see him?"

"Tomorrow. You're still tired."

"Will you tell me a little more about him?"

"You'll soon find out for yourself what a great man he is. He has helped shape and hold this community together."

"Jezabella's his daughter?"

Charles stopped. I could see the cogs turn in his brain. "I don't like to ask," He started slowly. "Pastor Carlyle and his wife were very kind. During one of his trips, he adopted some kids and brought them back with him. He's been abroad, but he also knows the depravity of some of our cities' slums."

I nodded, and excused myself. Supper would be a while. Lost in thought, I went to begin my letters, and found one my mother had tucked into my bible for me. It was addressed simply: 'Isaac'. I put it aside; I would read it later. I couldn't focus on my writing or my reading. So I sat down and went through one of the Psalms. This one was about being surrounded and crying out to God. I smiled slightly. At least I wasn't living in a cave.

After dinner, I did the dishes and let Charles rest. The night passed slowly, and I found myself wondering on the stars, Creation, and mutations. Could life really have started out there?

Jezabella wasn't at school again. I had intended to speak with her and ask her more about Pastor Carlyle. Her table filled up with her four siblings, and I chose to let them be. I would find out tonight. Biology was more about dissection of bacteria and photosynthesis today. I found it intriguing that algae could spread the way it did and soon became so wrapped up in it, I barely heard the bell ring.

Charles picked me up from school again, and told me Pastor Carlyle was busy and sent his apologies. I felt disappointed, but relieved; school was taking it out of me more than I realised. I spent the weekend reading, relaxing, writing and praying. I fully intended to attend church, but I overslept and Charles hadn't the heart to wake me. Shame filled me, but perhaps it was for the best. Sunday reminded me of home: it rained, and rained and rained. Charles commented how the church roof leaked, and how the floor would be a quagmire. Once it subsided, I went and found a bucket and mop. The door was unlocked, and there was no one there. The damage wasn't as bad as Charles made it out to be, and I spent the evening in quiet contemplation while I worked.

Monday brought a sharp drop and Autumn and Winter joined hands. The first frost settled, and I could see my breath in front of me. Woollen mittens under lambskin gloves kept me from trembling too badly, and the scarf woven by my late aunt kept the chill off my neck. Michael found me shivering outside. I was grateful he didn't comment on my coat, black wool to his leather. "Snow."

I nodded. It was beautiful.

"Hey, Isaac!"

I turned; Earnest grinned at me and pelted a snowball at me. It exploded. Laughing as I spat snow, he called. "We're even."

"I'll teach you how to bowl," I promised.

Laughing, we all went inside. Judith was already there. Tea had become fashionable. It pleased me they had chosen not to find the nearest harbour. To my amazement, Jezabella looked straight at me. In her hands was a tea cup. I couldn't read her expression. Judith giggled under her breath. Had I really made such an impression? I smiled back with a small nod; she turned away, and I found myself coughing.

"Are you all right?"

"I think I'm getting a cold," I confessed. I should have piled on more blankets last night. Sympathy followed – and tea. The prospect of Gym lifted my mood, and as the last lesson of the day, school was over in two hours. I just had to get through Biology first. As I packed up, Michael thumped my shoulder lightly. I looked up. I saw Judith, and smiled slightly. "You go on."

He flashed me a grateful grin.

I stooped back down. I became aware of another's presence; a chill fragrance. Some frozen flower, I thought. Slowly I looked up. Jezabella watched me. I hastily straightened myself. "Ma'am." I greeted her.

She laughed lightly. I couldn't help but notice her features, bronzed, faded. Alert eyes, missing nothing. Her hair was cropped, auburn with copper streaks. I swallowed slightly. Her voice was rich, warm, as if secretly amused. "Isaac."

"How can I help?"

"I have a message for you."

"From your father?"

Her dark amber eyes flashed slightly, "He's not my father."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

"I know." The smile was back, "but you are invited to dinner with us." She examined me afresh, not quite quizzically, "You didn't have to. At the church."

"It's God's house." I answered simply.

"So devote." There was no bite in her words, only sadness. I'd heard that sort of tone from the old ladies at home to the children or younger teenagers. I had no answer. It was impolite to ask why she hadn't been in class.

"I'm your lab partner." She waited, as if sensing the bell seconds before it went.

"After you."

Was that a smile as she turned? I found her arm through mine. Had I offered? I thought I had, but I couldn't remember voicing it. The corridor seemed strangely deserted. She kept to her thoughts, and I to mine. I broke away to open the door for her.

Mr. Placard didn't mention our tardiness, but I apologised anyway. He let it go without comment. Today, we dissected a fish. A chorus of 'ews' filled the room; I didn't think it was the squeamishness, but the smell that caused the reaction. Fish oil had a way of clinging I soon discovered. Strangely, Jezabella wasn't bothered by it and set to work with precision and efficiency. In spite of her choice of outfits, I admired her skill with a scalpel. We worked without talking, and I became fascinating with the fisher's inner workings.

"Eye." She handed me the slide. I set it under the microscope, adjusted and stepped aside for her. Mr Placard stepped over. I barely noticed him making the rounds.

"I heard your comments last week."

Sometimes it was wiser not to answer.

"You know something of the early church?"

"A little." I confessed. "I know that Bede was the father of English history and that Anselm of Canterbury influenced Western Theology as the founder of scholasticism."

"Well, perhaps you'll find modern science has something to offer."

"It is our nature to learn." I replied; he looked at me strangely, then walked away. I found Jezabella's eyes on me, and I looked back at the microscope. After a moment, I couldn't help myself. "It must be difficult." I should have kept my mouth shut. She didn't answer. "Pastor Carlyle. My father mentioned that he had difficulties here. Being related can't be easy."

"You're allowed to ask."

I was about to take her up on it, then fell quiet.

"Shyness is sweet, sometimes." I felt her eyes pierce me. I kept from shivering. "He preaches about modesty. Virtue. What is the virtue in hiding yourself?"

"We're not controlled by lust." I bit my lip.

She smiled, "We're animals, with instincts." Then amazingly, she conceded, "Perhaps more. Animals f– the word offends you? Mate with those they please."

"Not all."

"Not all." She agreed. The light caught her. "Is that why you're here?"

I frowned.

"To preach?"

"No, I'm here because…" I hesitated. "I'd rather not talk about it."

She watched me. I had the horrible, sinking feeling I was failing. I was meant to be transparent, honest.

"My mother," I began.

"Not here." Jezabella made a show of looking around without moving her head. I understood and smiled gratefully. "You done?" She motioned the fish with an almost bored finger.

"I'll write up the notes." I offered, cleaning the counter as she named the slide.

"Such a gentleman."

I couldn't tell if that was ironic or sarcastic, or if she actually meant it.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

I stared after her, blinked and wondered where the time had gone. Michael called to me, and I went to meet him and Earnest. "Tea?" they laughed.

My brow furled.

"You talking to Carlyle." Earnest nodded in her direction. She exchanged the lab coat for her own effortlessly. "She invited you out?"

"Oh. No. Sort of?" I shrugged.

They laughed again and clapped my shoulders. I got the feeling there was something I was missing.


	3. Invisible Black

_3_

_Invisible Black_

I awoke with a prayer on my lips. My fingers were blue, trembling. The frost had reached my window. I resisted the urge to snuggle back under the blankets. Slowly, carefully, I rose, the covers becoming my mantel. Shaving was fiddly, and I had to hold my hand to keep it from shaking. The water took too long to heat, and I carefully set my razor down. I decided to try once I'd had my morning tea. It helped.

My dressing gown caught on the stairs, but I barely noticed. My slippers felt too thin, my socks not thick enough, but I stopped focusing on my own discomfort and witnessed the beauty of Creation. Through the windows I could see the trees sparkling in the dawn light. Spider webs glistened, frozen, and as I cooked breakfast, I wondered what other wonders the day would hold.

Treating myself to porridge, bacon and eggs, I set aside a portion for my father, who was still getting up. It surprised me that I would rise earlier than a lawman, but he kept stranger hours than me. I thanked God for providing my needs, and prayed His blessing over the day. Then I wolfed down my food, my teeth chattering as I threw away my manners. Taking the stairs two at a time, I briefly wondered what I would wear, and layered up. When I stepped outside, the air walked through me as though I was bare. I went back in to throw on another vest. A vest, shirt and jersey weren't nearly enough under my thick coat and scarf. I reminded myself layers could always be removed.

I called to Charles and asked him to drop me off; he was surprised I had chosen not to drive. I replied that it wasn't worth it. He shrugged and said I would have to learn sometime, but seemed pleased we would spend more time together. For my sake, he hurried, and along the way asked how things were. The small-talk was pleasant, and I found we were slowly finding common ground. I mentioned Jezabella never came by, and he managed to look sheepish. It turned out he had forgotten to tell me something came up. An incident he couldn't go into detail about which involved Pastor Carlyle's expertise as a doctor. I shrugged off his apology, and asked if I'd see him after school.

I stepped out of the car and waved back as he drove off. As I lost my footing, I heard a screech, turned and…

Darkness. I was floating, cut out of time and space…

She was there, standing over me, condescension her only expression. Contempt for my folly, for me. I stared up at her, past her at the bright grey sky. I was in her debt. Perhaps I was wrong about her? I felt her studying me. My breath was sharp, my shame burning. She should have commented on my idiocy. Instead, she walked away without offering me a hand up.

I glanced to the side; a car had skidded. It should have hit me. The tyre marks ran over the pavement where I'd been standing. 'Sidewalk', I corrected myself, still dazed. Had I stepped out in front of a car? All I remembered was slipping… Hadn't she been by her car? The school gate was; I wasn't sure how many feet away. She was inside the car park and I wasn't. Then it struck me. What about the other car? I glanced over, but Tobias was fine. It dawned on me how close I had come to death. I ran over to him, and almost fell a second time, apologising profusely. He glared at me, shook off my hand, and told me to 'watch myself'. Naturally, I offered to pay for any damages incurred. He looked at me strangely, shook his head and that was the end of that.

I barely remembered the rest of the day. How had no one else witnessed this? I was grateful they hadn't. The classroom atmosphere was as usual, and no one said a word. I was caught between wonder and awe, and couldn't focus. As soon as I could, I excused myself and went to sit outside. How close my world had come to ending? Pleading a headache, I got let out and made my way to the church. Thankfully, it was empty. I spent many hours on my knees.

"Evil has many means to tempt and corrupt us", my pastor once told me, "but God uses all means to His own ends." The fourteen year old in me at the time had asked about war, to which he replied, "God may intercede, but sin still has consequences and man has free will." Had God spared me, or was it her will? What was her reason? What was His? I understood I was wrong to judge her. I repented of my sin, and resolved to atone. My prejudices would not sway me so easily again. I would find a way to thank her, to overcome my pride. But how? Flowers? Chocolates? I did not want to send the wrong message. I settled on a letter, and a card. I pulled my notepad from my bag._ Thank you for my life_, my pen began.


	4. Charcoal Haze

_4_

_Charcoal Haze_

Dreams mean many things. In scripture certain dreams held significant meaning. After a traumatic experience, it was natural to dream. How was it then that I dreamed of nothingness? I lay awake in bed thinking. Charles had been concerned, of course. The school had rung him. I should have let him know where I was. Eventually, he found me at the church. Pastor Carlyle was with me. I don't know when the man had arrived, but dusk had settled in. He offered no words of comfort or chiding, but let me be. When I finally looked up, I realised I was not alone. He asked if my father knew where I was, which shamed me, and then Charles walked in. They exchanged a few words, and then we drove back in silence.

I expected a lecture. When I tried to apologise, he cut me short. He asked if I was all right, shaming me further. I told him that I felt dizzy. It wasn't a lie. My thoughts were swarming and I couldn't forget the sense of floating. _Sensory deprivation_, my psychology textbook called it. He nodded understandingly, and told me not to worry about supper. Gratefully, I thanked him and headed upstairs. I was asleep in minutes… and hours later, I awoke. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about her, those eyes. Darkest amber, black honey. I closed my own.

The next month passed without incident. Tobias remained standoffish, but slowly began to warm. We ended up playing 'pool' together. The closest to it we had at home that I knew was billiards. A slow, good natured rivalry began between us. Jezabella remained my biology partner, and she never spoke of it. I couldn't quite meet her eyes, and she tolerated my awkwardness with the patience of a saint. I found it ironic, then, that her attire was anything but, even on the coldest of days. She accepted my letter without comment, and never so much cracked a smile.

At lunch, Judith, Earnest, Michael and I played cards. Tobias joined us and we spent many hours in merriment. Despite being warm inside, it was an excellent opportunity to weigh up their moral stances. I decided that it was better to play it slow, and let my own example influence them. I strove to be upright in all things.

The mention of the Spring Dance arose.

I caught the look in Michael's eyes and saw the way Judith was looking at me and sighed. Earnest was glaring at Michael and Tobias didn't care. I noticed Jezabella on the other table, and so often was the case, her eyes caught mine. Trying to lighten the mood, I suggested we should all go together. There were splutters and guffaws at this, as well as silence from Michael and Judith.

"Who're you going with?" Earnest asked tactlessly.

I would have shrugged had Jezabella not been staring at me. I was foolish enough not to immediately look away; Earnest followed and laughed knowingly. It irritated me for some reason. Rather sweetly, I answered, "I was thinking of asking you."

Earnest choked.

There was stunned silence and ruckus laughter.

I turned to Judith and smiled gently. A slow blush crept up her cheeks.

"As–"

"But," I lowered my voice, "Michael might never forgive me."

"–hole."

Michael flared crimson.

"You could fight a duel," Tobias suggested indifferently.

"I'm going to England for Spring Break."

I couldn't stand their shock.

"We're running out of tea."

That brought a smile. Earnest thumped my arm non-too-lightly. Laughing, I added, "I believe gentlemen, and lady, that the round is mine. Four Aces."

He swore. Tobias threw his cards down in disgust. Michael actually looked relieved. Judith pouted. I gathered the teabags, then tossed them back. I didn't play for stakes. By the time I looked up, Jezabella was gone.

English was entertaining. Hearing the others try out their best Shakespearian accent while others didn't bother made the lesson sail by. As usual, I was expected to read aloud, which I did without qualm. It was a joy to have a little piece of home, even if it was written hundreds of years earlier.

"Do you really mean it?" Judith asked after class, "You really aren't coming?"

I tried not to let her disappointment faze me. "You should go with Michael."

Clutching her book, she nodded.

"Isaac?"

I turned back.

"We could've all gone together."

I tried to smile.

She twisted and ran to her next class. I watched her go; when I turned back I found Jezabella standing in front of me. For some reason, I swallowed.

"You've been busy lately?" I offered. 'Hello' didn't quite cut it.

"You've been avoiding me."

"Sorry."

She looked at me, then shrugged. "It's too bad."

I looked at her.

"That you're going home."

"I…" I hadn't though of England as home for a while. I wasn't sure when I'd stopped thinking of it like that. "Are you asking me to the dance?" Suspicion clouded my eyes. Then I realised how tactless it was.

"No." She smiled slightly.

Disappointment filled me, then I remembered that it was my place to ask, not the other way around. Would she think me a chauvinist pig? "Thank you."

Dark amber studied me.

"With Tobias."

"You don't owe me anything."

My mouth opened.

"We're going to be late."

I frowned.

"Gym."

Realisation filled me, and my mouth snapped shut. I searched for my watch. By the time I looked up, she was gone.

We did laps today. Laps and laps. I was exhausted by the end of it. While I towelled off my face in the locker-room, Michael muttered, "Thanks."

"She's lovely." I noted, "You deserve her."

"She is." A stupid smile painted him.

Outside, I found Tobias and Jezabella getting into their cars. Jezabella had her flock with her, and I had heard enough locker-room gossip for one day. Tobias and Earnest thrived on lewd remarks, and eagerly anticipated prom. I found it vexing all they could talk of was girls' skirts and what lay under them. Over the last month, I had practiced more and more with the truck, and I finally felt confident enough to drive it to and from school. Trying to get out the car park was easier than going in. I had to pray for patience while Tobias stalled his car and motioned Jezabella should go on. I didn't want to think of her expressionless stare, or her lack of acknowledgement.

The next day, she shocked me.

"I've wanted to visit England for a while."

I gaped.

"Fancy some company?"

Was she mocking me? Her accent matched mine perfectly. I tried not to scowl.

"I'm visiting my mother."

"Are you near Stonehenge?"

I blinked, and my mouth closed and opened several times.

"I can drive myself." She assured me.

"It's fenced off." I warned.

She lifted her shoulders in a graceful shrug. I couldn't take my eyes from her.

"Let me know. We'll book the tickets together."

I nodded slowly.

"And Isaac? I'll call you."


	5. Crimson Blaze

_5_

_Crimson Blaze_

English passed without my attention. Something was mentioned about a king; whether it was Lear or Hamlet, I didn't know. While I apologised, Mr. Manson was too busy trying to get Tobias to pronounce 'thee' to comment on my tardiness. By the time lunch came around, I realised I had eaten half my Shepherd's Pie without tasting it. Judith prodded my elbow.

"You've not said a word all day."

I shrugged.

She looked over at the other table. "She's looking at you."

"She's always looking at him," Earnest supplied somewhat sourly, then a slow grin licked at the edges of his mouth, "Think you could put in a good word for me?"

"Thought you wanted Loraine?"

Earnest shrugged at Michael's question.

"You and Tob won't shut up about her." Michael rolled his eyes.

Judith sighed.

I barely noticed.

"You gonna ask her or what?"

I frowned. Earnest elbowed me. "Come on man."

"She's all by herself." Judith commented quietly. I almost didn't hear her.

"Yeah, where _are_ Emma and the others?"

"Think Alaïs and Josephine are off. Didn't see them in Art."

I stood without thinking.

"Not gonna finish?" Earnest's grin was not pleasant. "Told you English food sucks."

"Be grateful we're not having fish."

"Huh?"

"It's Friday." I walked away, placing my plate in the rack. I felt their questioning looks on my back.

"What's up with him?"

I didn't bother to listen to the rest.

It occurred to me when I was ambling down the corridor that I was dragging my feet. What had got into me? I should be playing cards and laughing with my friends. Tobias and Earnest would be wrangling over who was prettier: Angelica or Loraine. Was I sulking? I needed time to myself, to think. Brooding, then, not sulking. Part of me hoped that Jezabella would catch up to me, but that was the whim of a spoilt child. I'd ignored her as she'd ignored me. I couldn't keep expecting her to chase me. Was I the maiden and she the knight? Only, I wasn't a knight at all, and we weren't in romanticised thirteenth century France. I _was_ sulking. Where did this wistful longing come from? Would I stalk the corridors like a tireless wraith? Was I really that pathetic, that desperate? My exit was a cry for attention, a plea.

I found her leaning against her locker, her arms folded. She just looked at me. For some strange reason, I smiled. Her eyebrow raised slightly. Why had I walked to her locker? Was I walking in circles?

"Sorry," I murmured, suddenly feeling the need to explain myself. "English food."

It was a lame jape, and didn't even bring a smile to her face.

"I thought you didn't want to go to the dance."

"I don't. I…"

She shrugged slightly, her hair shining in the low, artificial light. It flickered in the gloom, catching the copper and deep reddish-brown tones. My breath caught in my throat.

"Want to walk with me?"

I was pathetically grateful for her offer.

Somehow, her elbow pressed onto my hand, her long fingers covering my stubbier ones. I felt awkward, linked at the joints. She led the way. Wasn't I supposed to lead?

After several moments of silence, we paused at a window. Long, teardrops ran down. All around us, the skies wept.

"Reminds me of home."

She examined me from the side.

I sighed. "Sorry."

"We should finish your homework," Her words were soft, low. "Biology's next."

"Oh. Wait, how do you know I've not done it?"

Her look said it all.

"I tried." I sounded defensive. "Sorry." I was saying that a lot.

As usual, she didn't acknowledge it.

"I just…"

"I know."

I stared quizzically at her, tracing her features, noble almost, cast in washed out bronze. I could never work out what lay behind those eyes. "How?"

"It's all over your notes. You jotted down formulae and never applied it."

"You can tell?"

"I'm your lab partner."

There it was. I gave a guilty sigh.

Her gaze returned to the pouring rain. "You can't work out what to make of me."

I swallowed.

"You're nervous. I can feel it."

Why was she so cool and composed? My skin felt hot against hers.

"It's unlike you." She took pause, then her stare returned. I looked down, then back at her.

"I don't know what to make of you."

"I know."

No smile, not even a flicker of one.

"Why are you bothering with me?" There it was. It was honest, blunt, and out before I could stop it. But I desperately wanted to know.

"You've a nice voice." And that was all she said. Turning away, she led us to class. Whatever her thoughts were, mine were in turmoil. We shared silence.

When we got to our bench, our arms were no longer linked. She had gathered her bag from her locker, and mutely handed me mine. I didn't even remember putting it down. Mr. Placard entered and then he withdrew a syringe filled with purple dye and the next thing I knew was darkness.

_I saw a woman with her skirt raised. Her breasts were veiled with a loose bandeau and no scarf covered her. Her hair was loose. She shimmered, white glazing her sun-kissed flesh. She was slender and full. When she spoke, her mouth did not move. Her wrap, blue, revealed the underside of her perfect round curve. My gaze was drawn down, hers fixed on me. My arm was lodged inside her. It was cold. I felt the darkness._

_Within her womb lay an egg of stone. It rested upon my palm. My fingers curled around it of their own volition. My touch warmed it. I looked up and saw patient amber eyes stare back. My warmth was not enough. Her gaze was drawn to my left. I held in my hand a knife. I understood._

_I did not feel pain. Crimson flowed down around my fingers. With its heat, I felt something stir. Life entered stone. The shell cracked. I pulled my hand free._

_In my palm stood a seven headed dragon._

_I stared at it, then up at her._

_The Whore of Babylon._

_One thought dominated: I had to save her. _My eyes snapped open, as if being pulled from a great height.

"W-what happened?"

"You fainted." Jezabella was gracious enough to maintain her standard cool. My heart reached out in infinite gratitude.

"W-why?" I had to know. Those same eyes studied me. It was still too soon. The dream was too detached.

"You're my lab partner."

That said it all.

Slowly, I looked around. My sight connected with that of the nurse. She clucked disapprovingly, and pressed a weathered old hand to my brow.

"N-needles." I tried to explain. "In-inoculations."

Jezabella said nothing. A slow flush found its way to my cheeks.

"Have some water."

It wasn't a request, and I found myself sipping it by rote. My shame was mistaken for fainting. I tried not to compare the vision to her person. The nurse turned her back and busied herself with forms. She tutted again, and shuffled out muttering to herself.

We were alone. I found my throat constricting. She seemed to loom without moving. Her head was half turned, and yet there was nothing else in the room but me. The door might have been locked, not ajar. Three feet away, she seemed closer than a kiss.

She reached out and took my hand. How had she done that without moving? Three feet? Two?

"How are you feeling?"

"Faint." I tried a smile and failed. "Sorry…"

She took the water from me. "Well enough to get back to class?"

I hesitated. I don't know why. I wanted to stay here, sinking against the raised couch. Her eyebrow lifted fractionally, and before I knew it, the curtain around the cubical was drawn. The challenge was written across her face, clear as day. _Better?_ It seemed to say.

I nodded limply.

She kissed me.

My eyes widened, my jaw dropped. Her lips were like ice against my brow.

"Rest."

Pathetically, my hand reached for hers, an equally pathetic plea in my eyes.

Soundlessly, she walked away. I couldn't tear myself from her gait. The way her shoulders moved, the way her hips rolled. It was as if she was gliding, flowing, liquid metal taken form; an ancient statue brought back to life. A goddess of the sun. Venus. That was blasphemy; I corrected myself and mouthed a prayer.

Outside, I heard her voice quiet, commanding, "He's resting."

"Very well." A loud sigh.

Her footsteps faded. I was amazed I could hear them; it was the soft whisper of air after them, not the harshness of shoe striking stone or cement. My hand raised to my brow in wonder.

I don't know how long I lay there thinking. It might have been ten minutes; it might have been an hour. Then she was there. My bag and coat she draped over the corner chair, and a fresh glass of water pressed itself to my lips. I felt the fizz and ripple of bubbles. Aspirin?

"How's he doing?"

Jezabella stepped outside the curtain. Her tone was hushed, terse. "He'll live."

I could imagine the old nurse's reaction. The displeasure at being scolded would not have gone down well.

I still didn't understand what happened.

"Does he have any medical conditions?" The receptionist Ms. Coopersburg wanted to know.

I heard pages leafing. "None that I can see."

Hadn't she looked at those first?

I felt vaguely sick. Thinking about the needle, I couldn't help myself. I looked around for a basin, a bowl, a bucket and heaved…

I don't know how she was there. Before my vomit hit the floor, she had grabbed a bowl from the sink. Her hand was on the back of my head, holding me. My insides welled up, and a surge ran through me.

"Don't fight it."

My head shot forwards; nothing came out. I stared down, gasping. Water, white, a half dissolved pill. Where was my lunch? I shook all over. Her hand was already wiping my mouth; where had that tissue come from? She held my chin, inspecting me with such detachment I felt myself cringe in shame.

"You'll be fine."

She let my chin drop.

Another shudder ran through me. Incredibly, she rubbed my back, and before I knew it, my forehead was pressed against her shoulder. I couldn't help myself. Her arm tightened around me, then her left reached up and lifted my chin. I stared into her calm face. I don't think I'd ever been more miserable. She didn't seem to notice I'd just thrown up. My breath must stink.

"P-please d-don't tell any-anyone."

The look she fetched me was decidedly odd. I felt the beginning of tears and crushed my eyes closed before they could form. Her finger curled around my chin a second time and after a moment, her other hand found the back of my head. I half swallowed, half gulped, and she squeezed lightly. A few deep breaths later and I'd calmed.

I opened my eyes and tried to apologise. Her look stopped me. I was so grateful the curtain blocked the view from the reception. Before I knew it, I was on my feet; my knees sagged but she caught me. She was more solid than the bed. I stared uncomprehending. She didn't offer any answers but led me from the room. The receptionist and nurse both looked at me; I opened my mouth, but I had no words to say. A mixture of sympathy, amusement and understanding followed me. I think I saw veiled envy.

I was outside before I processed their looks.

"What about gym?" I protested.

She didn't bother rolling her eyes. Instead she held open the car door. The sight of cream leather hit me. "In."

I knew that look. I'd seen it enough times on enough women to know not to argue. I'd already lost, and any further protest was futile. It would only be taken as stubbornness on my part. Worse, childishness. I obeyed.

"Seatbelt."

Flushing, I plugged it in. How could I have forgotten? She watched me, then glanced over her shoulder. The engine flared to life, and smoothly, she pulled out, then swung around. My hands went to my stomach, and she caught me from the corner of her eye. The car stopped.

I swallowed, and nodded for her to continue.

She sped away, pausing momentarily at the gate and turned onto the open road. Her driving was as graceful as she was, her handling elegant and controlled. It was like gliding across ice. Her attention seemed to be everywhere. She wasn't looking at me, but I felt her focus. I sat very still.

She pulled up outside my house. Expressionlessly, she handed me a folded piece of paper.

"What's–" I began.

Her look sharpened.

Swallowing, I opened it. "Oh." I hesitated, "They're going to the beach Saturday." It was signed Judith. "Michael, Earnest and the others."

She offered nothing.

I felt increasingly stupid. I was sure my neck was heating. "Do you want to come?"

"Are you well enough?"

That stung. It shouldn't have, but it did.

"Why shouldn't I be?" I countered. Irrationalism rose up inside. "I'm not a child." I regretted it almost as soon as I'd spoken; we both knew it.

"Out."

"Jezabella, I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

I saw her expression and something inside crumbled. I opened the door, and twisted to unlock my seatbelt. "I'm sorry. Thank you." I mumbled and ducked out of the car.

I wasn't expecting her to join me. Her arm caught mine. Suddenly, I could smile again. It was pitiful.

"It will be cold."

I stared without comprehending.

"Tomorrow. Stay out the water."

"Oh. Um. Okay. Does that mean you'll come?" Pathetic hope flared.

She studied me. The rain started, a fine sheet of drizzle. Before a drop had landed, we were on my doorstep. I frowned; weren't we just on the sidewalk? My keys came out my pocket; her hand or mine? She ushered me inside. A step later, I realised she hadn't followed.

"Aren't you coming in?"

Why couldn't I read her?

For a moment, I thought she was going to decline. She turned towards her car.

"Please?"

That one word, my voice so small, as I stood there with my arms at my sides, did nothing. Leaving the door open, she floated back to her car. My heart sank. I saw her elbow move, and realised her key had turned in the lock. Through the window, she pulled out her bag. It was black, like her car, I noted, as if seeing it for the first time. She slung it over her shoulder, and locked the window behind her. Then she started up the garden path.

"Tea?" I managed feebly, stepping aside.


	6. Vermilion Desire

_6_

_Desire of Dreams_

We sat at the kitchen table. Its wood was dark, worn, its grain cracked with age and scars from many mugs and plates. Self-consciously, I tried not to look around. Everything was sparse, old. It had never bothered me before. If she held any judgement, my guest did not show it. She took the faded white mug as she did those at the refectory. It didn't seem to matter what material it was, or the condition it was in. It didn't make me feel easier. I sipped my tea awkwardly.

"How is it?"

She lifted it to her lips, then nodded slightly. Relief filled me. Before I'd lowered mine, she had spread our biology books across the surface. I tried not to wince.

"There's the sofa…" I offered helplessly.

Her look wasn't hostile, but I felt like a child of five. I let the matter drop. As if I had never spoken, she opened the textbook, flicking through to the right page with alarming precision. My exercise book landed neatly beside it, her hand sifting through my bag without her even looking. My awe increased. My pen was set down firmly between its pages. I sighed slightly.

"What's it say?" I asked in resignation.

"We're to calculate body mass."

"That's it?"

"That's first. Where are your scales?"

"I'm not sure…"

I swallowed at her look.

"Bathroom, under the tub, I think. It's old–" I called after her.

"Move."

Hurriedly, I followed her. I realised she already had her pen and pad in her hand. This was going to be awkward. She gestured with her pen. With a sigh, I reached down and pulled them out; they were old, rickety. Tenuously, I climbed on top of them.

"What's it say?" I asked.

She read it off.

"Uh… we use stone in England. Or kilograms."

Her maths was amazing. She converted it just like that.

"How much do you weigh?" I tried to retract it, but it was too late. I expected a withering glare but hers was so unimpressed and detached, I wanted the floor to fold and swallow me up. In this house, it wasn't as implausible as it sounded. What surprised me was the lack of chill. She was objective and calm. That scared me more than if she'd screamed at me.

I was surprised at the figure, and stepped away for her to use. A moment later, I realised she wasn't going to. I really should have known better than to ask or expect a girl to. Clearly, my stupidity knew no bounds today.

While her pen scratched neat, sharp lines onto her page, I waited. She lifted her eyes, and hesitantly, I backed out of the room acutely conscious of the lack of proper carpeting. The floorboards were showing under the bathroom rug, and the hallway's was deliberately too narrow. The whole house creaked, especially the stairs, but at least, I reminded myself, having stairs reminded me a little of home. I led her past my room to the top of the staircase. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to look inside or not. She paused. I knew she could see straight through into Charles' room.

"Your mother?"

I froze, and peered over my shoulder. He had left his door open. No reason not to, I supposed. On a dark, battered chest of drawers, a silver frame stood. My mother at my age, and a smaller cutting of me. I nodded and swallowed the lump that shouldn't have caught my throat.

I couldn't tell if it was sympathy or curiosity, or mild disinterest. I hesitated. She watched me with that same expression, then her eyes intensified. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, completely dry. Her back was to my door. I felt burning. My neck and cheeks were flaming. So were my… She just watched me. Charles shouldn't be home for a while. I couldn't breathe. I was torn. Shame and desire warred with each other.

She made the choice for me. Bitter ashes welled in my mouth, and disappointment stung me. I was helpless before her.

Without looking, her hand twisted open the doorknob, and her other caught my sleeve. Wordlessly, she led me inside. I hated myself for my weakness.

She closed the door.

Slowly, I twisted, a protest on my lips. She silenced me without words. I felt the onslaught of hapless tears bubble up. I wanted her so badly.

"Homework can wait." Was all she said. Her eyes locked on me. A single sweep had taken everything in already. The cross, the dresser, the bedside table and the wardrobe. She didn't acknowledge any of it, not even the metal framed bed. I couldn't step back. Her hands found my jersey and she unbuttoned my shirt through it. My hands tried to catch hers. She ignored them and slowly, gently worked her way down. Her fingers curled beneath the wool, and she pulled it over my head and through my arms in one smooth motion. My shirt came with it and I stood in front of her in just my vests. My heart hammering, my breathing rapid, I could not shake the feeling of appearing as a child before her. There was no lust in her eyes, nothing. I couldn't help myself. I stepped forwards to kiss her.

She moved only slightly, but that graceful half step left my face brushing hers, our lips a world apart. Her arms wrapped around me. I realised in horror what a mistake I had been about to make. Heat burst at my cheeks and I shook. Lacing against my hair, she stroked with her fingertips. I stifled a sob.

"You're burning up."

I didn't have any words.

I allowed her to put me to bed, and tried not to think of what it would've been like as she ease my trousers away. She sat on the edge, her hand blessedly cool against my brow. I hadn't even noticed how warm it was. She left a few moments later and bitterness swelled. I tried to pray, but all I could think about was her. When she returned with water, my heart leapt in my chest.

I caught her hand, begging her not to leave. She tucked the covers firmly around my chin, and drew up a chair. I listened to her pen, grateful just to have her near. I lost track of all time, but when I heard Charles' car pull in, I felt disappointment like never before.

His heavy step was painfully loud against the stairs, more so because of the knowledge of what would happen next. He entered the room, his face hard. Jezabella looked up at him calmly, book spread out on her lap. His eyes frowned, and he saw the chipped white bowl and now, lukewarm water and towel.

"Hello father," I mumbled.

His frown deepened, and he stepped outside. She rose and followed him. That simple movement of rising from the wooden chair was glorious. My eyes feasted on her retreating hips. My lips burned with their closeness, even as I repented. I did not hear her reasoned explanation, nor Charles' protective, then concerned and abashed words. I could imagine what was said from the tone. A moment later, she stepped back inside and retrieved her book. She paused, leaning over me. I had to will myself not to look down; her cardigan and shirt hung open. I couldn't resist the quickest of peeks. Her hand cupped my cheek, and I flushed. Her cool was amazing.

"I'll be around tomorrow."

She laid a firm kiss on my brow. I tried to thank her, but my mouth wouldn't work. Then she was gone, gifting me with another wonderful memory. Her trousers were so tight.

"See he gets plenty of water," I heard her instruct from outside. She repeated she'd be back to check in on me, mentioning she'd bring back homework. I didn't hear Charles' answer, but I heard the door shut softly behind her. Leaning back into the pillow, I thumped the back of my head against it several times, trying to forget the image of her wonderfully sculpted cheeks.

Jezabella came back the next day. I wouldn't have known it was day, but for the light tap on my door. It was Charles' hand, not hers. I doubted she would have bothered. His head poked around the door, and then he leaned back and let her through. I understood immediately there were conditions, but the door closed gently behind her. She took her seat at the head of the bed, and once again, blissful cool soaked through my sweated brow. I don't know how long I just lay there in wistful gratitude, but I was aching for her touch the second she removed it. Was I delirious? I couldn't say if I called her name; it was in my thoughts. Did I beg? Plead? I didn't know.

Was it my imagination or were there tears running between her fingers as her thumb stroked my cheek? When had she cupped it? Why was I so desperate to be near her?

"Sleep." She ordered. "I'll be back during lunch, and after school. I'll tell them you're unwell."

My hand snatched hers. She squeezed. I cried. She was gone by the time my whimpers began. Did she hesitate outside my door? Had she stopped and listened? It wasn't like her to hesitate. I hear her leave. Had she spoken to Charles? He stepped inside after I'd stopped, guilt painting his features.

"I have to go. Will you be okay?"

I didn't answer, but rolled onto my side. I felt his stare on my back.

"I – I've given her your keys." It was hard for him to admit. "If you need anything, call."

I nodded.

He closed the door softly. It was too much for him to say he loved me, but it was in his voice, his actions. I don't think I'd ever felt more miserable. I was going to miss the beach. For some reason, that hurt most of all. My hand grasped for my bible. When I finally found it, I clutched it to my chest and tried not to rock.

I didn't hear her come in. I awoke to her voice reading through one of the psalms. One I bookmarked. Bleary eyed, I stared. She didn't pause. When she finished, she put it down, looked at me and forced me to drink. I spluttered.

"Not so fast."

Her disapproval was worse than a slap.

"I'm keeping track of your homework."

My heart sank. What about my Midterms?

"They'll let you retake."

I hadn't spoken aloud, had I?

"I'll help you. Stop worrying."

I craned my neck to stare at her.

"Judith sent you this." Her thumb slid effortlessly under the fold of the envelope she just produced. It was a card with what looked like yellow flowers on. "_Hope you're feeling well soon. Judith x, Michael, Earnest, Tobias. _There's another one here from everyone else." She opened that one too. After holding it for me to see, she set it on the chest of drawers, just out of reach. "Drink."

I caught her hand. I realised she was letting me. My own reflexes were pathetically slow. I squeezed my thanks. The slightest smile touched her.

"Talk to me?"

She watched me closely, waiting.

"About… school, anything."

"Placard is concerned it's something he did that caused this." Her voice was edged with contempt. "You've a fever-flu."

"I – I guess it's not that surprising, huh?"

"Stop trying to talk."

I wilted.

More gently, she put the glass to my lips again. My cracked lips relished its contents.

"Coopersburg's gossiping that the Spring Dance will be pushed forwards."

She paid attention to gossip? She didn't seem the type.

"I'm not." The answer was so dry it made my throat seem moist. She slid more water down it. "Alaïs and Josephine won't stop talking about it. Earnest is going with Angelica and Tobias with Loraine. Judith thought you'd want to know. It's in her card." She nodded to a third, smaller card which had fallen out the first. How had she read it? I realised I had heard enough about school.

"When you're well enough, they're taking you to the border."

I blinked.

"Have you forgotten, English boy, the legal drinking age here?"

"Oh."

I trembled slightly.

"Yes."

How did she know my question? Why was I so afraid to be apart from her?

"It'll be the Day of the Dead."

That sent shivers down me.

Almost indifferently, she picked up my bible and began to read from it again.

"_Don't look down on me, you fair city girls, just because my complexion is so dark. The sun has burned my skin._"

My eyelids weighed too heavily under her words.

"_Where are you leading your flock today? Where will you rest your sheep at noon? For why should I wander like a prostitute among the flocks of…_"


	7. Silver Sleep

**A/N: The Epic of Gilgamesh cited here is not an exact quote. Source comes from a compilation of google search results.**

* * *

_7_

_Silver Sleep_

"…_Tear down your house and build a boat! Abandon wealth and seek life! Spurn possessions and keep alive! Make all living beings go up into the boat…_"

I drifted in an out of sleep. My dreams were like darkness milling around me, a sea of swirling stars clouding my sight.

"…_Six days and six nights the winds blew, the storm flattening the land and the flood overwhelmed the world. Tempest and flood raged like warring hosts…_"

I whispered in my sleep, shivering as the chill ravaged me, battling the fire that burned my brow.

"…_The sea calmed, the flood stilled. I looked upon the face of the world and there was silence. All mankind had turned to clay!_"

My own whimpers filled my ears, and I writhed uselessly, the blankets too heavy, too tight. I hovered between delirium and dream, wakefulness and awareness.

"…_On Mount Nimush, the boat lodged firm…_"

My throat was parched, my lips were cracked and sweat beaded my skin. Clammy, humid, spongy; my body had no strength.

"…_With the seventh day, I sent forth a dove. The dove went and returned to me. I sent forth a swallow, but it returned to me. I sent forth a raven…_"

My eyes opened to the world of the living. Sculpted features, perfectly cast, smooth, still; amber in molten treacle, watching, unknowable. I saw myself staring back, hapless, weak, washed out, watching as the cool white cloth bathed my face. I suffered a breath. Everything tensed, my muscles locking. Slowly they released. Her touch never changed. What mortal composed herself so?

"I – I don't understand…" Was that my voice?

"The Flood, child."

I stared at her.

She put the book down.

"That's not from Genesis…"

"This is the Epic of Gilgamesh."

Water soothed my lips; my tongue had since shrivelled from thirst. It felt like I'd been swallowing sand. Her hand encompassed my chin and relief came too slowly. I couldn't fight any more than I could gulp. Finally, it slid down my throat, soaking every fissure of my mouth.

"Who?"

"You think Noah is the only flood story?"

"I never thought about it."

My voice came stronger this time. I longed for more water. She obliged a sip, no more.

"You should. The Fertile Crescent was a very important place."

"How do you know all this?"

Her smile remained enigmatic. "You need to rest."

I tried not to sigh. I settled back into the pillows and shivered. Seconds later, she changed them, and turned the covers over. With the rush of cool air, modesty and the sense and shame of exposure warred with the sweet relief of fresher linens settling over me. Who was she? Coughing racked my lungs, but it passed quickly. I'd never felt more wretched, more grateful. My thoughts reached out imploringly. It was pathetic, but I couldn't bear her leaving.

She squeezed my fingers, and then she was gone. I sighed and fell back into my fitful slumber.

It was dark when I awoke. I couldn't see over the edge of the windowsill, but I could see the lack of light from under the shutters. Willing myself to stir, I reached for the water. After the third attempt, I conceded. Trying not to sigh, I shifted my shoulders and stared across at the empty chair. I had been so sure I wasn't alone. I closed my eyes.

Dampness washed my cheeks, the cloth draping and lifting. I breathed, half aware, and returned to sleep. A silhouette? Sleep claimed me.

"Ishtar reigned in Uruk, Ninevah and Ashur, in Assyria and Babylon, Ninurta's daughter. In Babylon, she was Venus personified. The eight pointed star and lion was hers. Now she lives in myth, forgotten for a few."

My eyelids felt anchored; I peered through half opened slits. The chair held only air. I searched, and found her kissed by moonlight. She stood facing the shutters.

"She was fertility, war, and love. Temple prostitution and fertility rites, some sacred texts imply. Gilgamesh denied her."

She turned, letting the shutter fall back. Silver turned to shadow.

I used my elbows to push myself up.

"Why are you saying this? Pastor Carlyle…"

Even in the darkness, I could make out the curve of her lips. I imagined it never touched her eyes. "He prefers a… more active religion."

I longed to hear more. The words didn't matter.

"Personal accountability, faith. Where reason and logic are choices." She considered. "There is more to the human soul than just the mind. The heart lives. Reason speaks softly when she rules."

Nodding hurt.

"The spirit is not the soul," How distant she sounded; did she even see me? "The spirit is itself. Rest, and let the spirit work. Yours will not leave yet. It is bound by the body, and binds the body to it. Your spirit stirs and walks in dreams. Return to them."

I obeyed.

When I came to, I did not remember her words. I only remembered the lull of her voice, its calm melody. She wasn't there, but morning was. I felt ravenously hungry. How many days had it been? I wasn't sure which morning it was, or if she was even there. The covers were less of a burden, and with a heave, I shoved them to one side. My toes touched my slippers, and I felt a sudden urge to walk. The blood swam in my head, and a wave of dizziness overtook me. My hand found the end of the bed, and I clasped its metal rail until it passed. I took two shaky steps, and then, grabbing my dressing gown, I left the confines of my room. I wanted to laugh. I was alive. I was free. I took to the stairs. They fell away beneath me, each step leaden, but gaining swiftness. My confidence grew as my strength returned. Bed could not hold me any longer! Elation seized me, and I stepped clear of the bottom step. I _was_ free.

I crumpled onto the couch.

A while later, I managed a bowl of cereal, grateful the milk was still in date. I sat munching, and eventually gathered the energy to go and make myself tea. Its rejuvenation and fortifying properties was legendary, and proved its tonic to my weary self most admirably.

On the living coffee table I found my schoolbooks stacked neatly. Each homework assignment had been marked and written out in a neat, elegant scrawl I had trouble deciphering. The script was beautiful, closer to calligraphy than notes. Shakespeare, one leaf read, and the assigned reading and the questions. Each sheet was tucked into the corresponding textbook, with all the pages written down. I wondered how I was going to get through such a stack. Then I read her note. It simply said: _Lab partner_.

I stared at it for several moments, then tears welled. I found myself clutching it, and I buried my face between my forearms and knees.

Charles found me later. I had just about managed to shower, though the enamelled tube was slick and cold. The shower curtain almost came off the rail, but I just about steadied myself. Things got easier after that, and the hot clouds of steam helped greatly. The damp white tiles did not. Ridding myself of all the days of sleep and sweat made me feel new again. Clean clothes, clean shaven, clean self. It was enough to make me smile when I saw him.

His relief and concern was palpable. I don't remember what we talked about, but he made dinner, cleared up and everything. I was to take it easy. The only thing I really remembered about that evening was the mention of Jezabella. I asked if she'd visited last night; Charles fixed me an odd look and shook his head slowly. I frowned and shook it off. It must have been a dream.

She didn't drop by that evening, nor the following morning. In fact, I didn't see her for the next two days. I couldn't face school, so spent my time catching up on reading. On the third day, she did swing by long enough to put a note in the mailbox. I assumed it was her, but I never actually saw her or her car. It simply read: _School Monday. See you Saturday. _

I stared at it trying to work out if she meant anything by it. The handwriting was hers without question. I'd never seen anyone else write with such precise arcs and tails. Today was Wednesday, I realised, and went to check the calendar. I guessed I wasn't expected back at school until next week. Sheepishly, I allowed relief to hold me. I had a lot of homework to catch up on.

Judith visited the next day. Michael was with her. Earnest stayed in the car, unwilling to catch whatever it was I had. According to Michael, Earnest reckoned I had 'yellow fever', because I was too scared to take my mid terms.

"It's a joke." Judith glared at him, "You're supposed to rest. No homework for you." She saw my pile of books and her hands found her hips. "Who gave you those?"

"Jezabella."

Judith's expression was decidedly odd. I couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Catching my look, Michael shrugged, equally mystified.

"Well, she is your lab partner."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't she tell you?" Judith's scowl increased. "She'll help you with it."

"Oh."

"Oh, yeah." Michael backed her up. "What did you think it meant?"

"I… don't know."

"She'll be around sometime to help."

And that, unarguably was that.

After checking that I was resting and wishing me a speedy recovery, Judith leaned on tiptoes to kiss my cheek, and Michael stood there as awkwardly as I did.

"Well, see you soon."

"You too."

"Let us know if we can do anything." Judith slipped an envelope into my hand. Then she led Michael firmly out by his. He glanced over his shoulder with a sheepish smile; I shrugged. I was happy for him though. Then I looked at the envelope. More well wishes. It was very sweet; a Spanish styled lily. At least, I assumed it was Spanish. Anyway, the artwork was nice. The epitaph was to my illness, and told it to hurry up and die. Someone, Earnest I presumed, had drawn in a couple of stick figures scowling and jabbing at a fire, which had green scribbles in. Across the top of the page _Get Well Soon!_ Was written. Judith very sweetly scratched in _We Miss You_ under it. It was nice to have friends.

Thursday night, I found Jezabella in my room. I had no idea how she got in there. It was dark as the grandmother clock chimed eight.

"You ready?"

I frowned.

"It's the thirtieth."

As if that explained anything.

"Mexico." She prompted, "Day of the Dead?"

"Oh. Oh!"

She didn't quite roll her eyes. "I've packed your things."

I stared. I couldn't have heard that right.

"We're taking an extra day."

"But my father–"

"We've already spoken. He agrees that the warmer air will do you good."

"How are we going to get there in two days?"

She just smiled.

I found myself sitting in the passenger seat, my black travel bag slung over her shoulder, and then the car juddered as she packed it. When had she even had time to rifle through my drawers? I didn't even know I had a black travel bag. Had she simply given it to me?

"You can sleep on the way."

Where had that blanket come from? One second there was nothing in her hands, and the next she unfolded a bundle from nowhere and it was draped over me. And somehow my seatbelt was plugged in too.

Her cheek brushed close enough to mine I could feel its cool; I shivered. She ignored it. Trapped under the blanket, I could only watch as she leaned across me. I swallowed. Deliberately, she stopped, turned and looked at me. I couldn't read her eyes. I wanted her to kiss me. Instead, she planted something on my lap with a humourless smile. I looked down and saw my black bound leather bible. Shame rushed to burn my ears. Graciously, she didn't laugh. As she pulled back, her lips did touch my hair. Goosebumps tingled all the way down to my toes. Could I even _get_ goosebumps on my toes?

"Water's there." She set a laced canteen in the door's pocket. "Map's there." She tapped the dash drawer. "Bag's there if you feel sick. Oatcakes're in the white bag. There's more food in the back. Try not to make a mess." Again, she stopped. "If you need anything or feel nauseous just ask."

I nodded weakly.

Closing the door, she circled and climbed in her side. I couldn't tear my eyes from her. She was clad in greys and blacks, soft wools. I couldn't tell if she was in leggings or tights, but she wore boots almost to the knee. Her sleeves were long and ended in black gloves. She offered nothing below the neck, but her black breathed with her. Her grey was pocketed and sat heavy over her… I forced myself to stop looking. The black leather jacket was short, and landed on the back seat, still neatly folded. I had no idea how she did that.

The engine hummed to life.

Then I realised what was missing.

"Just us?"

"Judith and Michael are coming."

"Earnest?"

It was almost a sneer, but it only parted her lips minutely. I couldn't decide whose benefit it was for. I shivered, and her cool lessened slightly. She reached over and found my hand. Through the blanket, I squeezed back. Then it found first gear. It struck me that her car had a stick. It was something that I had almost failed to recognise. I was so used to seeing them, I had forgotten their rarity over here. I found myself smiling stupidly, and I had no idea why.


	8. Endless White

_8_

_Endless White_

The road seemed a blur. There might have been ice on the roads, but it felt like we were flying. It wasn't the flight of an aircraft, but more like soaring above the surface of lake. At least, that's what I imagined soaring above a lake to be like. The engine was surprisingly soft. Glancing over to the speedometer, I realised we were easily doing 120mph. Shouldn't the car be shaking? We glided to a stop. I saw myself in the windshield's reflection. I never heard her leave. It was only the soft click of the car door that alerted me to her absence. From the corner of my vision, I saw her dark form move up the garden path. Yard, I corrected myself. They didn't have gardens here. Her flowing gait was too graceful to be called a stroll, too controlled to be a saunter. I sighed and looked back at the rain speckled glass.

Vanity. I remembered the last time I stood in front of a mirror. My thoughts were on her, as she waited in the next room, my room. The comb trembling in my hand, I saw how haggard I looked. Tired rings under my eyes, a loss of colour in my cheeks. Was this trip really wise? I remembered how I shivered, and the air was warm, steamy. I remembered her smile as I showered, acutely aware how close she was. A single wall separated us. Our conversation, my bag already packed, her calm as she handed me a towel. My surprise was met with silence. Insistence, unwavering, implacable silence. All this in a steady, unblinking look. It seemed a blur. It was nice to freshen up, especially before a long journey. Who thought of such things? She did, obviously. I realised that a quick dip wouldn't satisfy her. I don't think I stank, but that wouldn't matter to her. I soaped myself thoroughly. I even washed my hair. I felt the need to look my best.

In the car, my reflection stared back at me. Impure thoughts bred lust, and from lust, sin. Sin was death. The steam billowed as I towelled myself down, reminding me of clouds. Was this a sign, this haze, almost as thick as fog? How often did God veil His glory in scripture behind a cloud? Was he in danger of straying off the path?

But…

There was nothing wrong with the human body, only in how it was used. Weren't Adam and Eve naked? Didn't they make clothes to cover their shame? They wandered in innocence, unashamed of their nudity. That was before sin though. She had to be aware of the effect she had, didn't she? Now I though on it, I had never seen her try to tempt anyone. She simply was, and did, and her features were always still, her gaze always the same. Was she at fault, or was it my own weak flesh?

Something in me stirred at the thought of her, desperately craved for her lips against mine, for her touch, her embrace, her recognition. No one had ever had this effect on me before. She was so… untouchable; above such base desires. Wasn't she? Or was it all in my own head? It made me wonder if she was aware of her clothing at all. There _was_ nothing wrong with the human body. Only.. she didn't quite seem human at all.

I sighed and outside, the slow rain sighed with me. She reminded me a little of Venus, that most pagan of abominations so lavishly flaunted in 'art'. How often I tried to burn that image from my mind. I had first seen it aged twelve. It reminded me too much of my mother, how men gazed upon her. Their lecherousness was filthy. I liked that my mother was pretty, but how could she enjoy the company of men outside marriage? Adultery was a sin! She knew that! Did she dare tempt Judgement and Wrath? But she was hurting. So hurt. That didn't excuse her. Did it? It wasn't her fault they drove her from the town. A moment's weakness… they would have married, wouldn't they? Why hadn't they chased out my father instead? Why was the woman always the temptress?

The rain offered no answers. I stared up at the drive. Nothing. Not even the suggestion of movement behind the curtains. They had to be out soon. Leaning over, I glanced up at the first story windows. That must have been Judith's room. I caught my breath. Behind the curtain, a distinctly feminine silhouette stood. What was she doing? Brushing her hair? I swallowed heavily. Surely it was my imagination?

Was it a sin to stare lustfully for those not married? If that was the case, how did people get married? They had to be attracted to each other first, didn't they? Or did it depend on the type of attraction, how lustful a thought was? No, that was silly. Any form of lust was wrong. Attraction without lust. Platonic, not Eros. Eros should be for marriage. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to be able to look at her the same away again. Just thinking about it made me heat. My collar pressed uncomfortably as my trousers, and my shirt weighed heavily. I tried to think of something else, anything else. I winced at the image that dislodged the scene above me.

But she was beautiful. And God made beauty. There was beauty in Creation, the sun, the moon, the stars, the trees, the seas, the fields. They were part of Creation too. She did have pretty hair. Did God know the sun would catch it that way? Of course He knew. But He must have known… a test. God did not tempt. The test was to avoid lustful thoughts, while appreciating her beauty, and ask for her hand in marriage. That had to be it.

My pastor would tell me I was overcomplicating things. But then, my pastor would probably smile to know I was getting so confused over a pretty hair of head. Only, it wasn't just her hair. Her legs were nice too. And her hands. And shoulders. Her neck was definitely nice.

I wanted to profane. Women; the source of all evil. They had to be. Except, not the godly ones. And that's not what scripture said. It never said women were evil. The love of money was the root of all evil. Lack of control. That was the key. She _was_ beautiful. Maybe I could save her and show her a better way. Courting her would afford the perfect opportunity. It really didn't work that way. But we had to marry, or we wouldn't have children. What was that verse about celibacy? But that was to Corinth in another time where women weren't meant to show their hair because the women of ill repute did. Was Jezabella a woman of ill repute?

I didn't know. How could I even think that? I needed to pray. Maybe God would offer clearer answers. Was this the sin of being born out of wedlock? Of that sin being passed down to me? Now I was being stupid. A stray thought seized hold. What would she look like as Venus? Art class… The Garden. That was biblical. I could ask her to pose as Eve. I tried to ignore it.

What was taking her so long?

A few moments later, they were in the car. Judith greeted me with a peck, clearly happy to see me. The way her eyes shone and her smile brought colour to my cheeks and hers. Her nervous titter of laughter made it worse, but Jezabella calmly ignored it. She didn't need to command. Judith sat back and did her seatbelt up without prompting, aware of the other girl's temperament. I couldn't stop thinking of how Judith leant forwards from her knees, holding the front seats as she crawled in and greeted me while Jezabella loaded the boot. Trunk. Her thin cardigan-jersey hung loose and her tawny hair framed her shoulders in a sea of curls. Over her ear, I could see the arch of her spine, her lower back and… her lips were so warm. I couldn't help but swallow. Her freckles, her dimples, the way her nose turned up at the tip. She wasn't beautiful, but she was cute beyond measure. She smiled shyly at me, and I found myself flushing crimson.

Jezabella ignored it and we sped off into the night. I couldn't tell if she was annoyed or not. Guilt covered me, and all I wanted to do was slink back under the blanket and have the seat swallow me whole. Jezabella wasn't given to conversation, and Judith soon picked up on the mood. She tried to make small talk, filling me in on what had been happening at school. I noticed she sat behind Jezabella, leaving plenty of room for Michael. It slowly dawned on me how still the car was. Wasn't music played on long road trips? But it was kind of nice. I wish I had something more to offer rather than nods. Judith didn't seem to mind, and at one point, Jezabella said without any sort of hostility or tone, "Let him rest."

Mortified, then vehement, Judith nodded. I didn't really have much choice after that. The glare she fixed me when I opened my mouth and Jezabella's cool saw my jaw close of its own accord. I soon found the soothing lull set me drifting. It was light by the time I woke. The sun was high, and as I came to, I realised I was alone. Looking around and yawning, I saw Judith and Michael standing outside under the sun. He was protesting, she was rising close to him, then grabbed his cheek with her thumb and started dabbing something. Alternating between blinking and narrowing my eyes, I realised she was applying some sort of balm. But it was November. Involuntarily, I shivered. Then I understood. I left them to it, and my eyes tried to pick out Jezabella. We were at a gas station, with a few isolated stores. I wasn't sure if we'd crossed the border or not. Stretching, I considered moving and thought better of it. It was warm and comfortable. I glanced back over at an increasingly embarrassed Michael. Judith was so sweet when she was exasperated. I'd never dare to tell her.

Shaking my head, I reached for my water. There was a short, sharp rap on my window. I jumped. Where had she come from? Jezabella opened the door. "We'll stop shortly."

I frowned at her.

She walked away. Seconds later, I heard the trunk open and a surge of cold filled the air. I winced. The trunk closed as softly as it opened, and she climbed in and started the engine. She held something out to me. I frowned and hesitantly took it.

"Eat." Was all she said.

Judith and Michael looked up, and scrambled for the car. Seventeen year olds weren't supposed to be so terse, were they? As soon as they were inside, she waited for the dual 'click' and we were away. I found myself biting into an oatcake and for some reason, the savoury-sweet mix and the simple act of chewing woke me more than the flask of coffee. In the back, I heard Judith grumbling in response to something Michael said.

"Did you _see_ the restrooms? Yuck!"

Jezabella ignored it.

I suddenly understood she wouldn't let me out the car. About twenty minutes later, she pulled over. "Out."

We all stared at her. She handed me a wad of paper roll and a large bottle of water. It seemed strangely clouded. "Use that on your hands."

I stared at the field. Then I saw her expression and sighed. It never occurred to me to grumble. Grudgingly, I obeyed. Then I handed the bottle to Michael and he went, and finally Judith. I'm not sure why she went last, but I didn't like to ask. I got the feeling that the details had all been arranged and I had no say in any of them. I was back asleep a few minutes later.

I felt a cool hand on my cheek. "We're here."

I opened my eyes to darkness. She clicked my seatbelt, and shakily, I tried to move. She caught my arm and with surprising gentleness and strength, eased me to my feet. My sight was blocked by her shoulder, and then I saw it. The sky was full of stars, clouds and clouds of them, so clear they took my breath away. I might have fallen but for her hold. I stared in wonder, and whispered, "Thank you."

Whether it was to God, her or both, I wasn't sure. Then I saw the entire sky reflected in dark amber. I wasn't sure which was more breathtaking. She was so close I wanted to kiss her. She had woken me just for this? Michael and Judith were dozing in the back, covered in blankets.

"We sleep in the car tonight."


	9. Pale Death

_9_

_Pale Death_

I was surprised at how tired I was. I woke with the dawn to find her bathed in crimson. She seemed almost aglow in fire. She sat there watching the horizon. I shifted slightly. Behind me, Judith snored softly every now and then and Michael turned restlessly, lost in dreams of his own. For several minutes, I studied her, drinking in every line of her features. I didn't like to disturb the still.

"Go back to sleep."

The quiet command was inarguable. I lowered my eyes. She wasn't unkind exactly, just… I tried not to sigh. I did as I was told, and when I came to, we were alone again. "Where are?" I looked around.

"Shops."

"Oh."

I tried not to feel stupid. What time was it? I tried to gauge by the sun's position and failed.

"Eleven."

How did she know what I was thinking?

I found I couldn't meet her eyes. More than anything else, I wanted her to hold me. It was pathetic, but I couldn't help it. I still hadn't fully recovered. I didn't know why Charles had allowed her to bring me here. The landscape had changed. It was nothing like England. It wasn't the sort of desert I dreamed of, no Arabian sand dunes, nor camels or flying carpets, oases or date palms. This was rockier, more soil than sand. There were shrubs. Why was I so drawn to her?

"Breakfast! Wakey-wakey, sleepy head!" Judith called cheerfully through the crack of my window. I hadn't remembered opening it. A wave of irrational resentment washed over me. Then I smelt it; the heat. My mouth watered and I no longer cared. I would have thrown myself onto the wrap had Jezabella not caught my wrist. Flushing guiltily, I slowed down. Judith glared at me, then giggled, and she and Michael tucked in.

"Aren't you having any?" She asked between mouthfuls.

Ice itself, Jezabella's smile never touched her eyes. "I ate earlier."

Judith shrugged and carried on. I noticed that both she and Michael had taken pains to eat from the bag, ensuring nothing stained the blankets or the seats. With trepidation, I took a bite. I frowned. Fish? Jezabella's eyes were humourless, but the faintest shadow danced. Droll, dry amusement? I wasn't sure. Mortified didn't began to describe my feelings when she wiped my chin with the edge of the napkin. Fortunately, no one else noticed. At least, I hoped they didn't. I was positive Judith had, but she showed no sign of it.

I was about to ask when we would see the town when Jezabella said, "You need to walk." My legs were cramping. I nodded. The four of us walked together, Judith excited and as happy as could be, Michael awkward as she grabbed his hand and mine. The number of times she shook our arms, or pointed something out made me wonder if she had never been out of Faux. The people here were… strange. Everything was colourful, creepily so. The skulls were white, "Candy." Jezabella informed me tonelessly. Judith grabbed Michael and they turned to a stall. We waited. Jezabella didn't seem inclined to walk far, and I felt like a duckling to her hawk. I realised we all were. She always knew where we were. As we stood, she spoke softly. I had to strain to hear.

"All Hallows. They honour their dead."

Her words were distant, as if focused on some far off point, and then her eyes snapped to mine and I swallowed.

"For those without venial sin. Tomorrow, they remember those who have yet to be cleansed. All Souls' Day."

Slowly I nodded.

"Those without mortal sin." Not even a humourless chuckle. I shivered. Why was she telling me this? "Few outsiders know of Mictecacihuatl."

Puzzlement furled at my brow.

"Queen of Mictlan, the underworld. She rules the afterlife with her husband, Mictlantecuhtli. They call her the Lady of the Dead."

I should have known better than to ask why.

"They say she was sacrificed as an infant. Her image was a body without flesh, her mouth open to catch stars."

Nothing repressed my shudder.

"The Aztec festivals were ancient, and now you see the Catholic fusion."

"Is that why you brought me here?"

She looked at me, and there was no one else in the world in that moment. Her mystery seemed unfathomable.

"Thousands were slain on the alters." She continued and I could suddenly breathe again. "The first was the daughter of a king given in friendship."

"Please…" I whispered, suddenly sick.

For a moment, I didn't think she was going to stop. Thankfully, she did. Something in her expression softened, and she looked at me with a strange mix of sympathetic pity. "I sometimes forget how young you are."

What was _that_ supposed to mean? I bristled. Her look was distant again.

"You would not have liked that time." The smile she gifted me made me heart stop. I felt my body turn to butter, melting before her. "Come."

It was both an invitation and an order. I realised the floats were passing by, and a crowd had gathered, lining the streets.

"Whoa!"

Michael and Judith joined us.

"That's awesome."

It was awesome. And creepy. Suddenly, I didn't want to be here any more. Feeling more than a little sick, I looked away. Judith's hand found mine. I smiled gratefully at her, small though it was. She squeezed back. Michael was too busy trying to stand on tiptoes to see.

"Why don't we have this?" He demanded.

Judith shrugged. I didn't have an answer. I looked at Jezabella, who ignored Judith's gesture to me.

It was so colourful. Some were dressed as skeletal brides, complete with flowers.

"Catrinas." Jezabella supplied, noting my stare.

"Is it like this everywhere?" Judith wanted to know.

"It varies."

"What's that?" Michael was staring into an open window. A tray sat on the side.

"Fiambre."

I frowned.

"A salad with meats."

"Oh."

I really didn't want to be here any more. I found myself standing closer to the living. Jezabella never moved, but Judith nudged my shoulder with hers.

"Is it like this on Halloween?" Michael was too busy peering at the latest skeleton to really listen. It wore a cowboy hat.

Judith looked at me. "What's wrong?"

"Halloween isn't big in England."

Michael turned and his jaw dropped. "No way. It's the best holiday of the year. Tell him!"

Judith nodded. "It's great."

Jezabella declined to partake.

After a while, I had enough. "I'm going to get my drink." I didn't need to say anything, but I didn't want them thinking I was wandering off. Jezabella took no notice, but Judith nodded. Michael was still too busy gaping at the floats.

Half way there, I realised I had no way of getting into the car. I sighed. I didn't want to go back yet. Kicking the ground, I stuffed my hands in my pockets as the wind picked up. I frowned as my fingers connected with something cold and hard. The car keys? But when? She must have slipped them into my pocket when I wasn't looking. Gratefully, I headed over to the car. A few moments later, my thirst was quenched. Slumping back with another sigh, I turned and stared up at the sky, wondering what I was doing there.

Then I realised I wasn't alone. Four local girls had surrounded me. I couldn't see their faces beneath the white paint. Their eyes were blackened. They spoke Spanish; I had no idea what they said.

"Ci?" I shrugged helplessly, wishing I hadn't locked the door. I wanted to climb inside and hide. One stepped closer. I found myself freezing. Emboldened, the other three stepped forwards. One of them poked at me, I shook it off. They giggled. It was creepy. They left me no room to run. Why was I even considering running? What if they had knives? Did they want my money? The chattered amongst themselves, and pressed closer. My back was against the car. I had no more room. I tried not to close my eyes.

"Hey!" Judith's voice cut through. Their eyes turned to her and I pushed through them. They giggled to each other and ran off. The look Judith fixed me was very flat. She said nothing, but turned and strode back the way she came. I followed meekly. I felt like a disgraced puppy. Before we reached the others, I stopped her.

"I didn't–"

"Yes?"

"I – thank you."

She didn't acknowledge it, but something of her chill melted. I wasn't forgiven, but she wasn't mad at me. What had I done? It wasn't even my fault.

"Why'd you come looking for me?"

She frowned. "You were gone a long time."

"Ten minutes?"

"Fifteen. Jezabella sent me." She hesitated. "Are you all right?"

I nodded. Then I checked my pockets and almost swore. "Judith, the car keys–"

She held them up.

Puzzlement clouded my features.

"I didn't want you dropping them."

"Oh."

She smiled. It was as if the sun filled her cheeks.

"Um… can I ask something?"

"Shoot."

"Is… is she always this way?"

The smile faded.

"What do you mean?"

"Jezabella." I kicked myself. It hadn't been the right thing to say at all. "You know, protective."

"Oh. I guess. I don't know." She shrugged.

"Uh… Judith?"

"What?"

"You've… your smile's really pretty."

Surprise flashed in her blue, then she graced me with it. "Come on." She took my hand.

I was able to smile again.

Michael hadn't noticed we'd gone. Jezabella seemed statuesque for all her still. Did she even breathe? Planting me firmly between them, Judith took my right and Jezabella stood guard on my left. The tawny haired girl wasn't prepared to let me out of her sight, or out of her hand. I noticed that her right slipped into Michael's but only after a moment or two. For some reason, I wasn't too comfortable with that. I wasn't exactly sure what it was either: that she held Michael's hand, or that she hesitated.

After we'd eaten an early supper watching the sun fade into dusk, we traded the bonnet for blankets and climbed inside. Judith and Michael were yawning so heavily, I wondered if there was something in the air. My own legs ached but all we'd done was stand and walk a little. As dusk faded to dark, we vanished into the night, invisible under the stars.

I couldn't sleep. Jezabella and the car seemed one, and she operated mechanically. I don't know how much road kill was spared that night, but more than one terrified set of eyes found themselves blinking in the rush of air from our wake.

"What you said earlier?" I broke the quiet. "How do you know of it?"

She didn't look at me. I didn't think she'd heard. I sighed and reclined, shifting the blanket and her jacked she rolled against my headrest.

"Fine." I sounded all the world like a sullen schoolboy of eight. "What other stories do you know?"

Nothing.

"Please?" I ventured after a moment.

Still nothing.

I felt frustration build. We were alone, or the next best thing to it, and she was ignoring me. "I'm sorry. I didn't do anything wrong. But whatever it is, I'm sorry."

I deflated almost instantly. My words might have been directed at a wall.

"What did I do?" I persisted after thirty seconds or so had passed. "Am I being punished?"

She stopped the car.

I blanched.

"Out."

"Please…" She wouldn't abandon me here. She couldn't. What had I done?

She fixed me a look.

My lip began to tremble.

"Isaac. Step out."

I stared at her use of my name. Hating her very much, my vision clouding with steam and salt, I obeyed.

"Do you see that?"

She was there, beside me. The blanket was draped around my shoulders.

"What?" I was too relieved to be sullen, too startled, too sick with relief.

Her hand cupped my chin and she turned it, "That."

"What am I looking at?"

"Venus."

I frowned.

She turned my head again, her fingers splayed along my cheek. I shivered under them.

"Jupiter."

"I… I don't see anything."

"You will."

"There's nothing."

The look she levelled at me was amused and resigned. Once again, I felt like an impatient toddler making demands.

My view changed.

"Mars will be there."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"Shamash is Saturn in Babylon myth. Ishtar's father, Anu, gave her the bull of heaven. When she set it against them, Gilgamesh and Enkidu slew the bull and offered its heart to Shamash. Mortals' mythology is written into the stars."

I stared at her.

"Babylon had many ziggurats. Alexander razed the Great Ziggurat to rebuild it. His death meant it was never rebuilt. Some think this was the place of Babel, the city and the tower. The texts you read say it was found in Nimrod's kingdom. Nimrod, son of Cush, grandson of Ham, great-grandson of Noah, king of Shinar. A mighty hunter. Babylon is Greek, from the Akkadian _Bāb-ilim_. It meant 'Gate of God'."

"What does that have to do with Gilgamesh?"

Her smile was slight, her shrug slighter.

"What else can you tell me?" My thirst for knowledge was fed by impatience; I longed to hear her speak.

"Cuneiform is what they wrote in. On tablets of clay. Triangles, lines. Unreadable to all but a few scholars." She waited and my gaze was drawn to hers. "You asked for a story."

"I didn't think you'd heard me…"

"There are some who say Ham castrated or sodomised Noah. Others claim Ham saw his father drunk and laughed about him in the streets, making an object of ridicule."

"What?"

"You read without awareness of meaning. In the ancient texts, 'see' could mean something more. Noah's curse was on Canaan."

"But why?"

"A few believe Canaan was the product of Ham lying with his mother while Noah lay drunk."

My jaw clamped.

"Anu, in Hittite myth, was castrated by his son, Kumarbi. Kumarbi used his teeth. He laughed until Anu cursed him."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Don't be so defensive." Her thumb caressed my cheek. "Perhaps another tale?"

Maybe it did matter what she said after all. She laughed softly.

"Cold, child?"

I nodded miserably.

I found my face in her hands and her throat and chin against my hair. Her fingertips toyed with my hair, and my own breath felt warm against me. Her skin was cold, still. I wrinkled my nose.

She pulled back. Somehow she was on top of the car, and then I was beside her. Leaning against her, I felt her arm hold the small of my back and her cheek press against my hair.

"Are many stories from there?"

"Many. Some traditions suggest the Akkadian Lilitu was Lilith. Others do not. You do not know the name? She was one of four succubi, she-demons, according to legend. Naamah, Agrat Bat Mahlat and Eisheth Zenunim. Naamah and David begat the cambion Asmodeus, king of demons, if it is to be believed."

"Do you believe it?" This topic left me uncomfortable.

She shrugged effortlessly. "Does it matter?"

"I… we're not supposed to know of such things."

"Afraid of biting the fruit a second time?"

How she felt my frown was beyond me.

"From the Tree of Knowledge."

"Oh. I… guess?"

Her laugh was soft, light. "You're tired. You should rest."

"I've been resting all day," I complained. "For the past week."

"You've had your story."

"That wasn't a story." I muttered, feeling for all the world like a child. I studied her. "Do you ever sleep? You're always awake."

She ignored it.

"And stop calling me child!" I snapped and immediately regretted it. Her eyebrow raised slightly. I realised she hadn't said anything. "I – I'm sorry. I don't know what – I'm sorry." I turned away.

I found myself pulled into a kiss, her lips smoothing my brow. "You're tired." She repeated. This time I nodded without protest. Before I knew it, I found myself back in the car, tucked in and belted up. I don't remember moving. She was so close I should have tasted her warmth; instead I only had goosebumps. It took all I had not to kiss that soft, sculpted neck. It was so smooth, so long and elegant. It was right in front of me. I couldn't stop thinking about her, even when she was right there. Her hand touched my cheek, and I found my eyelids weighing heavy. Cool brushed my brow and dreams took me.

When I came to, I was back in my bed. It took me another moment to realise I was in my pyjamas.


	10. Grey Aspirations

_11_

_Grey Aspirations_

It had been innocent, I brooded on the way home. Chaste. Why had she kissed my lips? I couldn't stop thinking about it. So delicate. Gentle. She had to know what she was doing. But there was no guile in her eyes. It had to be a thank you between friends. I couldn't think straight. I almost ran over the rubbish bin – garbage can – as I pulled up on the drive.

I got inside to find Jezabella already there. She said nothing, but I flushed crimson. She didn't even arch her eyebrow. I felt wretched and awful and terrible and worse than Michael. I was worse. Oh God, I prayed. How could I have let her kiss me? What was I thinking?

I couldn't focus all afternoon. Jezabella's patience never faltered, not even for a second. She was always calm. She didn't comment that I'd run up to the bathroom, two steps at a time, and scrubbed my face with soap until it stung. When I descended more slowly, she had tea waiting for me and I found a different sort of discomfort sitting so close to her. She was true to her word and helped me with everything I'd missed.

Finally, I put my pen down and told her what happened. I couldn't stand it any longer; it felt like I was lying to her.

She said nothing.

"Jezabella, please. Talk to me," I begged.

Studying my eyes, she allowed eventually, "You're being silly."

My jaw dropped. Out of everything she could have said…

"Pay attention. What did King Lear say–"

"You're not mad?"

"Why should I be mad?"

"She kissed me!"

"So?"

"Aren't you the least bit annoyed?"

"She's a child. So are you."

"But–"

"You're not my boyfriend, Isaac."

My heart sank.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She sighed.

I cringed.

"Do you love her?"

Everything stopped.

"I don't know. I don't – I don't know."

She shook her head and muttered something suspiciously akin to _children_.

I was beginning to take offence to that word. She must have seen my eyes flash, for she caught my chin. Her fingers were like a vice. They weren't painful, but I couldn't move. I hadn't even seen her hand leave the page.

"Stop worrying. Focus."

"How can I focus?!"

"What are you expecting?"

I didn't have an answer to that. My shoulders slumped in helpless defeat.

"You're mad at me…"

"No, I'm not. Should I be? You're a child who doesn't know better. She kissed you and now you can't think. You like an eight year old in the playground."

_That _stung.

"You are angry. You never would have said that–"

"That you're behaving like a child, or that you are a child? Get over yourself, Isaac."

A slap would have been more bearable.

"I'm sorry."

My head fell.

She stood.

"Please don't go."

I heard the empty mugs lift from the table. Then the tap ran and the kettle began to heat again. I finally gathered the courage to look up. From the corner of my eye, I watched her making tea.

She set it before me.

"I don't hate you."

"You mean it?"

Jezabella was not in the habit of repeating herself, or indulging any kind of whim. Her next words came as a shock. "Yes Isaac, I mean it."

Relief poured through me.

"But."

The word stopped me short.

"If you don't apply yourself, we'll be here all night."

My sigh was audible.

"But perhaps you'd prefer that?"

A slow blush crept up my neck.

"I'm not blind, child. Don't mistake silence for not seeing."

"Y-yes ma'am."

She pulled me to my feet. I stood staring in her eyes, her hands on my forearms. I felt my lower lip begin to tremble. I hated myself. Why was I so weak? I was blubbering like a sissy girl.

"You're tired." Her finger stroked my cheek. "You've been ill. We've done enough for one night."

My head sank. She was about to send me to bed, I just knew it.

Instead her arm looped around mine and my waist, and she gathered my mug with a dancer's finesse. The next thing I knew, we were on the couch. I didn't quite know how we got there. One moment, we were opposite ends, and somehow, she read my plea and took pity on me. My head was in her lap, staring up and her fingers were in my hair. I felt awash with guilt, but she made no move to anything untoward. Time seemed to phase. Minutes, hours; it no longer mattered. She sat there stroking my hair and I stared.

Then I heard the door. I almost shot up, and instead of cracking my head on her chin like I ought, she seemed to flow around me. In her hand she held her mug, long since cold, with exquisite grace. It made my heart stop. In her hand, she held King Lear.

Charles stepped in. "Oh. Hello Jezabella. Isaac."

"Mr. Cortez."

He smiled faintly at the jape. A squint at the book and a few comments followed.

"We were just finishing for the day." Jezabella began to excuse herself. "Isaac's tired."

Charles invited her for dinner. I half hoped she'd accept. With a smile, she declined, citing another night. She thanked him, and added that I should rest. I tried not to sigh. Then she was gone.

"England."

I frowned at the word.

"It's good of her to keep you company."

Had I not heard a word of their conversation? I tried not to gape.

"And it'll be good for you to have company. Stonehenge? Can't say I've ever thought of visiting it."

I had no idea what to say to that.

"You don't mind?" Stupid thing to say.

"Why would I mind? She's very respectable." He frowned.

That worried me. Did he think? I tried not to profane. I prayed instead.

"She's right. You've rings under your eyes. Don't worry about dinner." Charles stopped. "Make sure you thank her properly. It's decent of her to tutor you. Back around tomorrow? You're lucky to have her."

I wasn't sure quite how to respond to that one. What had I done to earn _that_ particular lecture?

"Oh, and son, I'll be busy this weekend. Golf with William."

"I know." Why did my voice sound so weak? "Jay invited me."

"Oh. Good. It'll be great to have you along. Ever swing a nine-iron, son?"

I shook my head.


	11. Cerulean Embers

_11_

_Cerulean Embers_

Golf was not something I found interesting. Technique and skill were part of any game, but there had to be more than just swinging at a ball. Glumly, I sat down and stared at my textbooks. Maybe it would be fun, I decided, flicking through biology homework. It wasn't the same without Jezabella there.

"Isaac?"

The light was on under my door. I really didn't want to answer.

"Yes father?"

"Kettle's on. Want tea?"

Instantly, guilt tore at me. "Thanks–" I didn't want him coming in here. He meant well. Maybe he wanted to say goodnight. Sighing, I shuffled the pillow up and set the textbook to one side. Then I slipped my pen and notepad under the pillow.

A couple of moments later, a rap sounded. It was almost hesitant. Charles came in and he had tea with him. He had even set it on a saucer and added a couple of biscuits – cookies – which no doubt, he hoped to win a smile from. He succeeded, in part. Chocolate chip.

"Goodnight, son." He wasn't quite gruff.

"Goodnight, father. Thank you."

He turned the light off on the way out.

A couple of moments later, I slid out of bed, tiptoed to the door and listened. He was long gone. Rolling up a shirt, I covered the cracks under the door. The gaps around the door were a little trickier, but with a couple of pins and a bed sheet in need of washing, I succeeded. It wasn't exactly deceitful…

I flicked on the bedside lamp and crawled into bed. Even in my pjs the room felt cold. Briefly, I contemplated pulling socks on and decided I couldn't be bothered. I pulled out my notepad and sighed. I wasn't ready to sleep. All I really wanted was to see her again. I don't know why her absence made me ache. I couldn't help but imagine how she was sitting there, or how close she was when she leant over me in the car. Slowly, I began to draw. I wasn't artistic in the slightest, but in art class we were told to _draw what you saw, not what you thought_. My sketch was a mess. With a an even longer sigh, I started on the next page.

Five pages later, I had a semblance of her likeness. The face wasn't great, but it was her eyes that really caught my breath in my throat. Somehow, though shading and cross lines, I'd captured something. That cool, unknowable gaze. My heart welled in my chest and my hands were trembling. I set the pad down and tried not to let my shaking lip spread to the rest of me. Why was she so kind to me? Why did it hurt so much? I wasn't her boyfriend. I couldn't bring myself to shred my work, so instead, I stuffed it down the side of my bed and grabbed my pillow. Crushing my face to it didn't help. I wanted her here so badly. I realised I didn't know what her scent reminded me of, but there was something there, subtle, soft. I suddenly felt incredibly homesick. It wasn't Jezabella at all; it's all she reminded me of. Security, most of all, and I had no idea why.

I don't know when my choked, silent sobs ceased. I don't know when the shame of weeping like a sissy girl finally stopped burning. At some point, exhaustion gave out to blackness, and dreams took over. A couple of times, I stirred and stared at the end of the bed, and at the window. Empty. It was irrational, even foolish, but disappointment surged. I sighed, and slumped onto my side. I dreamt of touch, her hand smoothing my hair while I slept. Dreaming of dreams. Through them, I inhaled her scent. An absurd dream to wake to. Silent, murmured words? I smiled in my dream. The smile was with me upon waking.

When I went to comb my hair after my shave and shower, I found it slid through more easily than I expected. I wouldn't have noticed except for how knotty it sometimes got in winter. I frowned at it for a moment. Maybe I was going mad. My sleep was often troubled. I decided must be getting used to this place. I stared at the mirror, wishing she had kissed my lips instead of my brow. I didn't wonder how it would feel. I dreamt of it last night. Jezabella instead of Judith. Why couldn't I ever do anything for her? Why wouldn't she ever regard me as sweet? That she saw me as a 'child' stung. It was such a bitter draught to swallow.

Firm, gentle press of cool. Yielding. I closed my eyes. It was already burning inside. My imagination was a thing of sin. I felt myself tensing up and guilty, I listened then stepped inside the bathtub again. I hated wasting water, but it was better than the alternative. Deliberately, I washed my hair. Then I wouldn't have to lie to Charles if he asked.

The front door slammed and to my relief, I was alone.

After I finally emerged, shivering and desperately towelling the last of the icy residue from me, I found myself in my room. As much as I was loathe to admit it, I hated the towel's coarseness. I was going to be late for school. Irritably, I kicked on my socks and found myself staring at a mirror I didn't recall placing there. What would it be like to be a girl, I wondered as I stooped. All that makeup, fussing with hair. Earrings. It must be a nightmare. Throwing the towel clear, I snatched the rest of my clothes and rushed downstairs.

She was waiting for me.

I stopped, dead still. She didn't say a word. I gulped. In short, deliberate strides, precisely poised, she stepped over to me. Every curve of her leg imprinted itself in my mind. Her fingers took my shirt collar and reached down. How had she even seen the second button had come loose? Straightening my jersey, she looked me up and down. How had she even got in here?

I tried not to shift my weight. Why was she looking at me like that? Expressionless. I knew if I spoke, I'd stammer. I inched closer, trying to keep my hands from quivering. One long finger arced around and caught the back of my hair, lifting it free from my collar. The tip was sodden. Wordlessly, she walked to the kitchen and returned with a clean hand-towel. I didn't bother asking how she knew where they were kept. I found myself subject to being scrubbed dry. In her eyes, I read the disapproval and detachment. It was louder than any lecture. I braced myself for a further scolding. I was unkempt, my hair was damp, it was winter outside… I lowered my gaze.

Her fingers slid through mine. I stared. Her smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, as if to say she knew I was late and how slow my driving was. I tugged and she paused. I realised that when _she_ tugged, I froze. Hers was mild curiosity. Somehow, I knew we'd still be on time.

"Thank you." I whispered. It hadn't been what I was going to say, but it escaped.

"Got your homework?"

It wasn't crushing, but it still felt like a blow. Mutely, I nodded. Then I stepped forwards and quickly kissed her. Frustration, doggedness, and foolishness spurred me. I had to lean in on tiptoes. Not for the height, but for the momentum. Then I blanched, expecting to be slapped.

"It was a dream."

Her expression was not what I anticipated. She was stoic, utterly so. Then she stepped closer and I found myself taking a half step back.

"Please…"

She ignored it.

I was rooted to the spot; the wall was feet behind me, but it might as well have been against my back. Her fingers curled around my chin, up along my jaw and cheeks. I found myself unable to escape her gaze. There was nothing aggressive in her smooth movements, but the threat crippled me. Slowly, she opened her mouth and I realised tears were seeping from the corners of my eyes.

"Child."

Relief swept through me.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Annoyance seemed to flicker, and then it was gone. Her hand was around the back of my neck, my hair between her fingers.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

I nodded dumbly, wondering why she spoke so.

She seemed to soften, and I was able to stare up at her. Why was I cringing? There was something terrible there, something dark… but then it was gone as if it had never been. I realised how grave my error had been, and how it had almost cost me our… whatever our partnership was. She released me. It tore. Half of me wanted to be held; the other half wanted to run as far as I could from her.

It wasn't hesitation, but she stopped.

"Dreams are not for waking."

"I don't understand." I confessed, my voice small.

"Most would want more than a kiss."

My cheeks flamed.

"Is that what you want?"

I couldn't speak.

Then she laughed lightly. "Poor child. You think you're the only one who holds virtue in marriage?"

"But you…" Where had my voice come from?

"Because I speak of ancient goddesses and demons, I have no morals?"

I didn't need a prophet to tell me I was on dangerous ground. "I didn't think you approved of my faith." I could barely hear myself. "You don't like Pastor Carlyle's…"

Her hand was holding half my face again. I felt myself die to it. How could she captivate me so totally? Such a simple gesture, such closeness. I never wanted her to let go. To let me go.

"Forgive me?"

"You didn't have to ask."

I didn't know how, but I knew she wasn't talking about my apology.

She brought her lips down onto mine.

It was everything I dreamt it would be. Chaste, pure, virtuous. I needed another shower. I felt my mouth cracking open and she drew back. I stared and lost myself in her eyes.

"I don't want to go to school." I confessed.

Her smile made me blush with its radiance. "You need your schooling."

What about hers, I wanted to know.

"You – you'll still come… England." The last word died in my throat. I felt like a child begging for a hug. This time, her kiss was against my hair.

"You're not going without me."

It seemed so out of character, but it was exactly what I needed to hear. I expected silence, a look… why did she keep indulging me? Her finger caught my fringe and flicked it up. _Better_, she seemed to muse. I let her fix my collar without protest. Then I looked deeply into her eyes, too afraid to ask. This time, she made me wait. Then, after what felt like an eternity of agonising, she brought her lips to mine. It was the same as before, but I kissed her back. The day disappeared in that moment.

As I lay in bed, tucked between the cotton sheets, I wondered if I had dreamt the entire thing. My fingertips kept probing my lips, and my head swam. I was not supposed to go weak at the knees. Maths, English, Biology, Gym. All of it was a blur. Had it even happened? I wasn't even sure what the date was. I didn't even remember climbing into bed. I didn't remember eating. I didn't remember anything. Anything except her kiss. Staring up at the ceiling, I was no longer certain of anything. I burned for her. Temptation, I knew, came not in the form of hideousness, but in the form of false beauty. It was beneath the allure that its darkness seeped. Sin was wrong doing, rebellion against God. Why did I feel this way? Was God frowning at me? Had I fallen out of favour? It was a beautiful, chaste kiss. Why had she kissed me? Had she really? I closed my eyes, hoping sleep would wake me from this torment. But if it was a dream, I didn't want it to end.

I realised I hadn't seen Charles all day.

Sometime later, the doorbell rang.


	12. Iron Skies

_12_

_Iron Skies_

Jay kept on about nine irons and the swing. How many times did he set the ball on the tee? It shouldn't have been awkward, but he kept bending over in front of me and holding my shoulders. Charles held my shoulders too, but he and William had their own conversation and left me with an all too enthusiastic Jay. I still wasn't sure if yesterday had really happened. Part of me dared not hope, and part of me longed for it to be true. I eventually decided I would wait and see how she reacted. If it was a dream – but what if she offered no sign? If she kept her usual countenance?

The swing sent the ball soaring. I watched it, then tried to mimic. Mine saw the turf fly in tufts and Jay tried very hard not to laugh. His clap to my shoulder made me sigh and once again, he instructed me on technique.

"Come on. We'll never catch them at this rate." He tried to encourage me. Then he marked off a sheet with a pencil. "Let's go."

"But I didn't…"

"Swing, boy, swing!"

I swung.

I chased after the club hoping no one saw me. Jay's groans and guffaws followed me. Fortunately, he knocked my ball onto the green and followed. The day was only getting longer.

It seemed strange Jay would wear white. The green jersey with thin yellow stripes didn't really blend in with the foliage, not that there was much this time of year, but he seemed happy. I should have known better than to wear blue, as the skies decided they'd had enough of my homesickness and chose to remain leaden all morning. There was no way I was blending in either. Tossing his golfer's cap, Jay strode on confidently. His whistle wasn't quite grating.

"So you and Judith." He began.

I fetched him a sour look.

"Hey, don't judge. I ain't." His beam was even more grating. "She's pretty."

"How do you know her?"

"Thought she made it obvious. She's mah sitter."

"Right, but why her?"

He looked confused for a moment, "She's my cousin."

"Huh?"

"Second, by marriage."

"Oh."

"You didn't?" His laughter was not reassuring. "She's like a sister who thinks she's mom."

Then I saw his face fall, and I decided not to ask. I hadn't been looking for a ring on William's finger but if Jay had been born out of wedlock, surely I'd have heard by now. I hadn't heard Charles mention anything but maybe there was a reason he and William were such good friends.

I had nothing to say, but so many things I could ask.

"Coming to the beach this time?" Jay didn't seem to notice the awkwardness of my silence. "Last time was great."

"You were there?" Idiot, I cursed myself: of course he was; how else could he say that?

Jay just grinned.

"It's too cold." I supplied.

"We could set up a barbeque."

I frowned. "Are beach fires legal?"

He laughed happily, "You Brits."

I didn't _quite_ mutter 'jerk'. This place was corrupting me.

"But." His seriousness startled me. "Don't go into the forest."

"Why not?"

"It's dark and full of bears."

"Very funny."

As if to prove his point, my club developed a swing of its own and sent the ball sailing. It was an effort not to profane. My smile was clipped. I couldn't have heard Jay's follow up remark right. Did he say constipa– no. The gales of laughter did not improve my mood.

"Oh, come on. Learn to chill. Relax a little."

"It's already chilly enough, thank you."

"Guess so." He sighed and shrugged. "Hey, I'm glad you came."

The smile was brilliant.

"No really. Dad's great and all, but." Rolling his eyes, he confided. "All he an' yours do is talk about work and the town. It gets old, you know?"

I did know, and inclined my head.

"'Sides, next time we can do cricket."

I looked around the golf course.

"Round mine, dummy."

I couldn't quite stop my frown-shrug.

"Trailer there we can hang from, after we're done in the yard." The last he hastily added.

I didn't really have friends outside of school. The offer stung. "Sure."

"Great. Uh oh – need to move."

Then I saw it. They had almost reached the end. Jay offered a shrug and a grin, then darted offer after his ball. I was left staring at mine, willing it to fly.

It landed in the lake.

"Never thought I'd say it," Charles laughed as he saw me. It was almost an hour later. "But you're a terrible golfer, son."

"Give him time." Jay chipped in.

"You swing that club like it's a bat."

I shrugged.

"Don't be too hard on the lad." Broad William took a draught of his bottle. I saw why Charles dubbed him that. He was built like an ox. I was beginning to wonder if I had landed in a town of yokels. I instantly retracted the thought. It was unfair, especially when Jay was being so kind.

"Thank you again for the truck, sir."

"You're welcome." The resounding clap made me wince. What was with people and their back slapping today? The laughter that followed was good natured enough. I was pleased to note Charles wasn't driving. At least, not yet. I listened politely while Charles drove us back to the Blacks' and after indulging their small talk for twenty minutes, Jay signalled and we snuck away. Charles called after me not to drink too much. What did he take me for? Jay laughed and returned that he'd "look after" me. Whatever that was meant to mean.

We 'hung' in the trailer. It was a mess. A typical boy's retreat. It was very much Jay's. His feet were up on the table, and after biting my tongue, I gingerly perched on the moth-eaten bench. I didn't like to think of it as a 'sofa'. I glanced up at the aeroplanes dangling from the ceiling. They looked as if they had been made using bits of tin. I tried to ease back a little.

"Want a drink?"

"Sure."

It seemed rude to decline.

"So yeah." Jay continued, handing me a jar. I prayed it was clean. I mimed a sip and set it on the table. Jay drank freely from his. "It's real boring here, but we get by."

He knocked one of the aeroplanes. It looked a little like a spitfire.

I decided to broach the subject that had been on my mind all morning. His face flushed with anger.

"Jezabella? She ain't no–" He stopped at my sigh. "She's a real lady. Proper like."

My hopes raised.

Jay looked sad, almost wistful. A tale followed about how misunderstood she was.

"I'm sorry to hear that." I was.

"Ain't no matter. Folk are what they are."

I found the colloquialisms endearing rather than annoying.

Feet still up, he leaned closer. "This town seems nice, but there are tales. Dark tales."

"Skeletons in every closet?" I tried not to sound too sceptical.

"Bingo."

I shrugged. What was it to me. Other than I _was_ one.

"Oh hey, I'm sorry man, I didn't mean…"

"It's all right."

The door opened. "Jay!" Judith poked her head in. "Hey Isaac." Then her frown flared. "Jay! This place is a dump! Oh Isaac, I'm sorry, I keep telling him to tidy–"

"It's all right. Really." My words could not stop her fussing, nor cleaning. Ducking into the kitchen part of the caravan, she returned with a rag, soap and began to wipe down the table, slapping away Jay's feet.

"Shoe's off."

"It's my trailer– ow! Okay, okay, sheesh."

I guessed she wasn't joking about smacking him. Sullenly, he covered his ear. "No need to pinch."

I found I couldn't look at her.

"Isaac, are you all right?"

"Oh. Yeah. I'm fine." It wasn't quite a lie.

She glowered at Jay.

"Hey, don't look at me. And no making out in my – ow!"

A few rounds of cards followed, and Judith chatted about various things. I couldn't focus on either of them, but neither seemed to take their eyes off me, except to glare and cringe respectively. I noticed that she didn't actually hit him, just threaten to and the most she did was grab his ear. Charles called a couple of hours later, saw Judith, who said hello and smile shyly, and then he drove off without me. He returned near dusk. The afternoon became a blur, but the beach barbeque was brought up and they seemed engrossed in their plans for that. That, and sharing spooky stories.

"Jezabella. She looks just like her grandmother."

"Is there a photo?"

Judith looked surprised, then puzzled. "No, I don't think so." She shoved Jay. "And stop telling tales. It isn't nice to gossip."

"Well, her house burned down." He looked defensive.

"It still isn't nice."

I ignored it, hoping Judith wouldn't notice my interest.

"So how are things between you and Michael?"

A stupid question.

Her face fell, but she also looked oddly hopeful.

A very stupid question.

Jay guffawed and yelped. I was beginning to think she was justified in her methods. It wasn't particularly charitable of me, and for once, I really didn't care. The comment about 'art class' and 'posing' cut a little too close to the bone, and I was genuinely surprised it was his arm and not his face she slapped. Her scarlet cheeks were very fetching though. I couldn't help but wonder what Jezabella was doing…

Leaving Judith to clear up, after helping with the jars – she insisted on real glasses, but I waved her down – I stepped outside the caravan. I found myself wandering near the trees. Jay's yard was not so much a yard as empty land. It backed up onto some water, adding to his yokel status. There was a feel of undisturbed nature about the place; even in winter, the evergreens were tall and thick.

"She's really something, ain't she."

I turned and found Jay with an oddly quizzical expression. He nodded to the tree. It was taller than the rest.

"Uh yeah."

He grinned. "Thinkin' about Jud?"

"I wasn't, actually."

A snort followed.

"Well… not entirely."

"She really likes you."

I wasn't sure what to say to that.

"I do too. Swing by again sometime soon."

"Hey Jay. Thank you."

"No prob."

"Um. Maybe when the weather's warmer…"

"Yeah, camping by the lake'd be cool. You, me, Jud." He grinned again.

"Not quite what I was going to say, but yeah. It'd be fun."

"Don't worry about Michael. He's dumb. Jud told me what you did, lettin' him take her to the dance an' all."

"It hasn't happened yet."

"Don't matter. It was nice."

"You two talk a lot about things?" For some reason, it irritated me.

"Ain't got no secrets." He winked and tapped his nose. "But don't you worry. You're safe with us."

I had no idea what that meant, and I wasn't sure I wanted to.

Then he threw me entirely. "You're part of the family, you know."

I gaped. I couldn't help myself.

"We all are here. Even Jez. Us Cortezs go back a loooong way. You ain't no different."

"Uh thanks."

"Means you're welcome here." He nodded towards the caravan. "No matter how things work out."

"Thanks." I meant it.

"Jay?" Judith called, poking her head outside. "Where'd you go?"

He sighed, mimed a long suffering shrug and trotted over to her. After scolding him with words I couldn't catch, but the tone blatantly obvious, she made her way over to me. I turned and she smiled up at me. I found myself without words.

"The lake's pretty." It was a lame beginning, but it seemed to please her.

"Sunsets are." She agreed. Then her fingers caught mine. "Hey, Isaac?"

"Yeah?" My throat caught. I hoped she wasn't going to kiss me as much as I hoped she was.

"I had fun today. Thanks for being so good to Jay. He gets so lonely."

"Me too." That wasn't what I wanted to say. I wanted to say 'my pleasure'.

Her smile was slightly sad, and then she did kiss me.

I sighed inside.


	13. Golden Truth

_13_

_Golden Truth_

I awoke to the scent of ferns. Green in the dead of winter. A place surrounded by trees that should not be green. A body of water too small to be a lake, too large to be a pond. The sun was shining through leaden clouds. It shouldn't have been warm. Why was it warm? Here the sun fell in beams, catching the water's smooth surface through the vibrant viridian canopy. As my eyes adjusted, I realised it wasn't viridian at all, but a darker spring green. I shook my head to clear it. Snowdrops? The trees here looked like… palm? Was I dreaming? And then I saw her.

Rising up from the lake, she was bathed in golden light. Her sodden auburn mane set ablaze, the reds, brown and coppers a crown of living fire. Wreathed in the shimmering of a hundred, thousand droplets, she stood aglow. A nimbus crowned, her halo parted from her faded bronze sheen by the ascending haze. I could scarcely look; she was blinding. I slipped to my knees. This was no goddess; I stared in wonder, not worship. She stepped towards me, elegance incarnate, each arc perfect. She was without shame, without fear, without condemnation, a daughter of the living sun, an immortal stepping out of a dream.

Her eyes beheld me. Obsidian amber, molten ice. She extended her hand. I took it and marvelled at this subtropical paradise.

I felt that same hand shaking me from afar. I wanted to swear.

"Please stay out of my dreams." I mumbled, and blinked.

Jezabella watched me listlessly. The faintest hints of a smile played across her lips. I swallowed. Thankfully, she didn't ask what I dreamt of. I got the suspicious, creeping feeling she somehow already knew. I desperately needed a change of subject.

"Are there any palms? Trees," I clarified hastily. "Around a small lake."

She leaned in and sniffed. I found it _very_ disconcerting.

"No more snicker doodles for you."

"But–"

I sighed.

"Up. It's time for school."

"Why are you in my bedroom?"

She fetched me that look that reminded me how naïve I was. I sniffed. It hadn't been ferns but leather. "Why am I in your car?" A slightly better question. I tried to sit up. She stopped me effortlessly. How her fingertips held such strength was beyond me. Pulling the blanket tighter around me, she helped me sit.

"I'm not – you're not my mother." Wrong thing to say. "Sorry."

Unimpressed and unamused were words which meant the same as 'the sun is warm'.

"I just mean you don't have to–" Again with her look. So sceptical. "I'm not a–" I sighed and stopped.

"Child?"

"Yes. That."

Her lips found my forehead. I blushed furiously, proving her point. More gently, she drew me into an embrace.

"Why are you here?" It was pointless trying to fight her.

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Even more gently, she steered me to the window. It took me a moment. Then I realised what was amiss: a low hanging black cloud…

"Oh God…"

"You're safe."

"My father!"

She didn't answer.

"Tell me – please – I'm dreaming again, tell me this is a dream?"

The pinch was firm, deliberate. I winced. Not a dream.

"He'll make it." She finally answered with some reluctance.

"What aren't you telling me?"

She kissed me again.

I hadn't realised the tears were flowing freely, that I couldn't see.

"We're in the forest…"

The dark tales Jay told me sprang to mind.

"You going to eat me?" My demand sounded petty, trite. She frowned at me. "You're a cannibal!" Hysteria? I didn't know. Her hand didn't slap me but held me.

"They think you're dead."

"Who?"

"Everyone."

"Then what about school?"

"You don't want to let them think that, do you?"

I swallowed.

"There's nothing you can do for him."

"I should be there!"

"No."

"But you'll make me sit in school?" I felt my blurred vision heating. "If this is a dream, I want it to end now."

A rough, rectangular object found its way into my hands. I blinked away the molten salt enough to recognise it as my notepad. I frowned. "You… saved this?"

Another object dropped into my lap. My bible. I stared at her. Grateful was saying the 'ocean was wet'.

"Who?" I asked finally.

"Trespassers."

"I don't understand."

"You're mine."

There was nowhere to back up. She smoothed my hair to one side. "Jay is mine. Judith is mine. Michael is mine. Earnest is mine. Tobias is mine. Manson, Coopersburg, Placard. Charles. They are all mine. This town is mine. No one touches what's mine."

"Jezabella…"

"Yes Isaac?"

"Please-don't-hurt-me."

She pulled me closer than before, resting my head against her bosom. "No one is going to hurt you, child."

The quiet fierceness in her words terrified me. "Who are you?"

"You don't know?" Her lips parted my hair. "I'm the one that dragged you from the fire."

"You set it?"

"Why would I do that?"

"To bring me here."

"If I wanted you here, I would have picked you up and carried you."

"You won't–"

"Won't what?"

"Obsidian-knife."

"You think you're a sacrifice, child? Perhaps you are, but not in the way you might think."

"Please let me go home. Let me wake up."

"What makes you think you're dreaming?"

"I want my mother."

"I know, child. I let her go. But you? You are mine."

I shivered and closed my eyes, praying, begging.

Then I saw her darkness. Canines, glistening ivory, dripping. She stepped over me, past me. Outside a saw a wolf the size of a horse. Its eyes were dark, intelligent. Wolves weren't meant to have human eyes. She walked over to it and put her hand under its chin. It whined and licked her. As it bowed its great head, she scratched it behind its left ear. I hadn't noticed she was wearing white. Loose, long, flowing, layer upon layer. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_.

I heard words which were undoubtedly meant for my benefit. There was no mercy in either of them.

"Bring him to me."

I got the distinct impression of a neck between the wolf's jaws.

She walked back to me, the light breeze catching her gown-sleeved cloak-coat thing. Her hand cupped my face and I turned into it.

"Who?" I croaked.

"No one you know."

"N-not Pastor Car-Carlyle?"

"_He_ calls himself many names. He thinks they have meaning. They do not."

"Why me?"

"To test me. This is my town."

"Are you Dr-Drac–"

Her eyebrow raised slightly. "And you are one of my brides? What do you think, child?"

"I don't know what to think. Please don't eat me."

"Have you learnt nothing?"

"I'm scared…"

I saw her patience snap. It was for the briefest of flashes, but it was there. Then she was near, holding me. The harshness in her was gone. "I know, child. This wasn't meant to happen."

"Why?"

"He would have eaten you to spite me."

"Why?"

"For no other reason than you're mine. He thinks because you're new here, you are not bound by the treatise. He is wrong, and he has broken our laws. Now he will suffer."

"But why you?"

"Jealousy. For centuries he has hunted these lands. As far as the north is to the south, he roams. From the shores to the seas, he walks. He is as old as the blood that courses through your veins."

I shivered, not liking to ask how old she was.

She smiled, and the edge was taken off. "You weren't meant to see any of this. Precious child, your innocence is a balm. But now it's time for you to wake. See what really is."

"You're a – a…"

"A what? Demon? Say it, child. Speak your curses."

I shook my head, lowered it and tried not to cling. "I'm sorry."

I felt her smile deepen. "You are going to sit in class, and I am going to absent myself with more pressing matters. You will speak to no one of this. I will come for you later."

"To kill me?" I squeaked.

She gave me that look again. Sheepishly, I glanced away.

"Seatbelt."

I tried not to sigh.


End file.
